Fearful Symmetry
by Michael Spenik
Summary: Richard Michaels is the Alpha of the Houston Pack, mourning the loss of his unborn children when someone from his past shows up unexpectedly, spurning him to travel the country unexpectedly to right the wrongs done to his family, running into other dangers along the way, as well as another First among shapeshifters...


Chief Ranger Roberts sits in the council room of the Mayor of Houston, the Knight Protector of the Knights of Merciful Aid across from him, and the leaders of the Supernatural Military Response Unit at the table as well. The three are there at the request of the man at the head of the table, Houston's Mayor, Jonathan Miller. Roberts looks like the old TV character Walker, Texas Ranger, with a touch of gray in his beard. The Knight Protector, Reynolds, is black with short hair a few inches long around her head and severely cut leather, military in appearance. The SMRU rep is a Colonel in a camoflage green uniform, a tactical gladius on his hip, as well as an M9 Beretta pistol.

The Mayor is leaning forward, a thick pair of folders in front of him, looking around at the gathered leaders. Miller is blond and stocky, and just under six feet tall, a deeply religious man who works out and runs frequently, despite the heavy hours he works. He is frowning at the people around the table, and taps the files in front of him.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a higher pitch than would be expected, nasal, but firm.

"Pegasus Way is still steeped with magic, and where quite a few renegades and outlaws run to," Roberts says with a glance at the others, who nod agreement. "But now it's for only the extremely desperate. The Khan has been patrolling through the Way regularly, and killed or captured a lot of at-large criminals that had been hiding there."

"How much has he collected, in bounties?" Miller asks, looking at another stack of papers on a clipboard to his side.

"The numbers are there," Reynolds says, gesturing to the clipboard. "But all told, four hundred, eighty seven thousand, two hundred fifty dollars in the last four months. He's been busy."

"We've paid him nearly half a million dollars," Miller says with a firm tone as he looks around at the gathered law enforcement officers. "We've paid him to do your jobs, is what we've done. So whose budget does it come out of? Because right now, it's been the city, and I'm damn sure tired of paying for mistakes on your part."

"The Rangers have actually paid about a hundred and eighty thousand of that," Roberts says with a glance at the other two at the table for a moment. "I've sent him closed contracts, as well, and those were not included in those numbers."

"How much total, have the Rangers paid?" Miller asks, leaning back in his chair and covering his face with his hand as he rubs his forehead.

"Just shy of two fifty," Roberts says with a twist of his lips, frowning slightly. "He doesn't disappoint. He does not only low level jobs, but picks up high end contracts at random and out of nowhere. I can't doubt his effectiveness. In the last year and a half, he's never failed a contract."

"Not since the Einjenhar," Miller says with a frown as he drops his hand and scowls at them all. "Is it too much to ask that you do your jobs, so we don't have to pay a mercenary to keep the city safe?"

The law enforcement officers bristle, and Miller continues, "Crime is down, the murder rate in town is down, the only things rising in the city is the economy and the occurrence of magical creatures being spewed out during magic waves. And I'm wondering if those are a result of Michaels and his Shapeshifters, as well."

"Actually," Reynolds says, clearing her throat carefully as the Mayor vents his anger. "From what my contacts in the community have said, he is responsible in part for the economy, as well. The Conclave that we've been privy to," she nods a Roberts, "indicate that he's helped broker deals, alliances and partnerships in businesses as well. Hoffman's Resources is involved in nearly 40% of the businesses in the city, if not directly, then indirectly."

"Well, then why isn't he the Mayor?" Miller says angrily, a rhetorical question. "I don't like dancing to the tune of someone else. We're supposed to be in charge in the city, not him and his Pack."

"Sir, he follows the rules, he has done good for the city," Roberts says, leaning forward and glancing at the others. "You said it yourself, he's helped, a lot. And I know Rick, he's not greedy or out to be king, he's just doing the best he can, which is pretty damn good."

"He's a loose cannon," Miller says with a frown at the Ranger. "And power corrupts. So when he decides he doesn't need us anymore, what can we do to stop it? That is the question I want you all to focus on. He's killed every challenger to him, he took on a freaking tank alone, with a sword, and won. When he goes to the dark side, how do we stop him?"

"I have some options, in that area," the Colonel says coldly with a glance at the others, who give him a glare in response. "It won't be neat, though. He is high profile, and his background is extensive. Even if we get a quick, clean kill, say with a sniper, which is not a guarantee, as we'd have to hit him in the base of the neck for a solid, confirmed kill, a target the size of an apple, the repercussions from the city's shapeshifters will not be subtle. He's built a network around himself. If we take him down without their support or understanding, we'll be looking at a war."

"War is bad," Reynolds says with a scowl at the senior Infantryman. "Innocents will die. I have no objection to being prepared, but we should not provoke him. He will not respond well to that."

"Put a plan on paper," Miller says, pointing at the Colonel. "I want a backup plan in case we need it. And I want to hedge the contracts to Michaels and his people. Do your jobs, stop farming out to others."

"The Texas Rangers appreciate your advice and counsel, Mr. Mayor," Roberts says with an excessive drawl. "But we answer to the State, not the city. We will take your wishes under advisement."

"As will the Knights," Reynolds adds, her own face calm and collected.

Richard attacks the solid steel post with steel extensions on it under the watchful eye of Hyong Xiang, his cousin Myong Xiang and their grandfather and patriarch of the Xiang family who is now part of the Cat Clan and the Pack. He has been training in Kung Fu now for over four months, focusing on the Tiger style, as that is his animal. The Xiangs had shown him and trained him not only in the attack forms, combos and styles of the martial art, but also the way in which they shift only part of their bodies. So now, as he attacks the steel training dummy, his hands momentarily flash into clawed hands, his fingers scarring the reinforced metal.

He ends his series of attacks, a series focusing on his hands and elbows, and he steps back to look at the Xiangs. He wears only a pair of sweatpants, his chest exposed and covered with sweat and black scars from recently healed wounds received in battle. His dirty blond hair is cropped short in a faded style and his face has a coat of stubble on it, not enough to be a beard, but not clean shaved. He is short, a little over five and half feet tall, but a bit wider than average and well-muscled, no fat on his hard, lean body. Hours in the gym and training, as well as constant fights and conflict have taken a man who a year ago was solid and intimidating, and made him into what looks like a born weapon forged for war.

"Your footing is good, khan," the elder Xiang says with a nod of appreciation. "Your blows are still too much palm and not enough finger. You have not kept the proper form during your partial shifts. You must focus on that. The claws are the feared weapons of the tiger, and so it must be with your own hands."

Richard nods, his jaw clenching, and he returns to the dummy to repeat the series of attacks and blocks, trying to focus on his Sefu's instructions. He had learned the basic art very well and quickly, but the adjustment of his technique to accommodate claws on his hands and toes is proving a difficult mental barrier to him. He practices again and again, repeating the form and receiving the same rebukes, until his frustration boils over and he breaks off one of the dummy's arms, and the steel spins away a dozen yards in the yard.

"I think that is enough for today," the elder Xiang says with a glance at the other were-tigers. "We will try again later, if that is convenient for the Khan."

Richard takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, pushing the anger down deep inside, forcing calm and control over his features.

"Yes, Sefu, let us try again tomorrow," he says with a nod in Cantonese. "Hopefully the tech will be waxing."

The three men bow to the Khan, who nods in return, and he watches them walk away. He turns to where Will is standing, his short blond hair pulled back in a tight queue at the back of his head.

"What?" he asks, wiping the sweat from his body as he walks towards the log house.

"The Nimir-ra arrived while you were practicing," he says quietly, a standing order to remind him if Tasha is in the Bastion.

Richard nods, glancing at the setting sun and the members of the Pack moving about the Bastion. Much work had been done to the Horde's stronghold in the past months, though mostly underground and reinforcement of existing structures. His avoidance of Tasha had started out after the wedding, him trying to cope with the anger inside that he can't quell. It had turned into more, though, and he knows a wedge is being driven between them by his restlessness, but he is unable to overcome it. He knows he should, that he needs to reach out in order to save his marriage, to keep his mate, but every time he tries, he is reminded of his failure to protect her when she needed it most. When his children needed it most.

Richard walks to the gravity shower at the barn and rinses off, shedding his sweatpants, then pulling on a spare pair of clothes from the shed next to it. He had started keeping spare clothing everywhere, so he could avoid the house as necessary, until he could figure out how to leap this hurtle. Dry and clothed, though his shower had been cold and rough, he walks out to the theatre to watch the rehearsals of the upcoming summer play, _A Midsummer's Night Dream_.

"He's going to the rehearsal," Nita says from the kitchen with a tisk, Tasha in the sitting room rubbing a solution on the stump of her right leg. "He showered at the barn and changed in the shed."

Tasha sighs, rubbing the balm on her stump, a magic concoction that should help with her body's natural regeneration to allow her to grow the lost limb back. So far, the results have been negligible and she is wondering why she even bothers. She's learned to walk, run, and even done her fighting katas with the prosthetic, though it feels like a hollow victory without Richard. She's tried to reach out, but every time he looks at her, his jaw clenches and he is angry, and she feels a part of her shamed. He is angry that she lost their children, that she allowed herself to be hurt, and at the people who did this to them that he cannot find and punish. She pushes those thoughts away, focusing on the here and now.

"I'll go out and watch with him," she says with a sigh. "We have to look normal, not strained."

"You are not fooling many, Tasha," Mischa says from where she sits in a recliner next to her. "Not anymore. Most of the Horde knows there is a distance between you."

Mischa is dark haired and pale skinned, though with a slight edge to her eyes that hints at a foreign, exotic ancestry. Tall, long legged and slim but athletic in build, she is a contrast to the shorter, slightly stocky and dirty blond woman who is the Alpha of her Pride of were-lions. She has been Tasha's friend for years and has risen to be a confidant and her right hand within the Pride, Clan and Horde. She reaches her hand over and places it on Tasha's knee.

"Say the word, we'll bring him here and you can confront him," she says, the Pride Matriarchal, the females in charge and not the males. "He should not treat you this way. It's wrong."

"Nita, leave us," Tasha says solidly, her face barely holding composure. When the other, more gossipy and unreliable woman is gone, she speaks in a softer, more vulnerable tone.

"But he's not wrong," she says, leaning forward to place her face in her hands. "It's my fault we lost our children. I waited too long, I should have been in the bunker when the round hit, instead of arguing with him."

"If you hadn't, he would have walked out the door into the round, and the tank would have killed everyone outside, without him there to stop it," Mischa says with a shake of her head, an old argument between the two of them. "I know that neither of you could face trading one for the other, but it happened the way it did, and it's done. It's not your fault or his."

"Yes, it did happen," Tasha says with a sniff, keeping the tears in check this time. "And it is my fault. He blames me, for good reason, as I do as well. I will not hate him for it."

"Let me go to him," Mischa says after a pause, a repeat of the offer she has been arguing for over the last couple months. "Let me talk to him, to try and mend the bridge."

"No," she says with a firm shake of her head. "You will not speak to him of this. It is a matter between him and me."

Mischa sighs, "Very well."

Tasha finishes applying the salve, then affixes her steel prosthetic that allows her full movement with a spring like bend on the fake foot. She pulls the jeans she wears to hide the bulk of the prosthetic, though the half-moon of the bottom is unmistakable. She rises and walks out the back door with her sabre on her hip, her face a calm mask to present to the world.

Tasha smiles easily as she watches the teenagers on the stage rehearse, she and Richard sitting next to each other and holding hands. Though they are close, he feels a million miles away, his façade an act like her own. His hand is warm, and she wants to pull him to her, but his body is stiff, and she can feel turmoil and anger beneath it. Her inner lioness is quiet, watching and critical of the man beside her, matching her own thoughts, _wait and be patient_.

Richard sits with a slightly amused expression on his face, though his inner mind is reviewing numbers and faces. A part of his mind watches the adolescents act and practice, but he connects their faces and scents with their parents, their businesses and jobs, and then beyond to their neighborhoods. He knows that the Jacksons, whose son is the lead role, have a possible mugging problem in the neighborhood of the deli they run, and that Hermano and two others are staking out the area in shifts. He thinks of that and a dozen other situations of the Horde, the intricate web of people, businesses and activities.

These thoughts hide the anger and frustration deep within him, thoughts of his wife and mate beside him, who holds his hand easily at his side. He hates himself, despises himself, and thinking of it only enrages him, and so he has to distract his thoughts to work, and he buries himself in it, so he does not lose control.

Will looks at Mischa with a frown, "I don't like it."

"They're putting on brave faces, but it's starting to fray at the edges," the were-lion says with feeling, waving at the theatre from where they stand by the barn. "They need to talk, and neither one is doing it. We need to help."

"If the Khan wanted to talk, he would have put it on the schedule, or do it on his own," Will says with a shake of his head, having a hard time wrapping his head around his boss being wrong.

"They are human," Mischa says, knowing she's gaining ground. "Just like us. They are allowed to make mistakes, but it's our job, our responsibility, as friends and family, to help them fix it. We need to help them talk."

Will looks to the side, staring hard at the ground as his jaw twitches, speaking low for only the two of them, "Her time of protection from challenges due to her loss ended last month. I've got word that there are a couple possible challengers to the female Alpha position."

"Three," Mischa agrees with a nod. "They'll challenge in the next week or so. My people are tracking them, and if they do, and she doesn't win, Richard will explode."

"He's on edge," Will agrees reluctantly. "I don't think we should push him. Or her."

"If we don't nudge them, no one will," she says with a frown, her brow furrowed as she takes on a sympathetic look, and he sighs and caves in to the female persuasion.

"Okay, but we don't talk to them," he says with a nod and a pointed finger.

"Wasn't even thinking it," she assures him, smiling gently with a shake of her head. "We're just giving them a chance to talk, alone, with no one else around."

"Okay," Will says, gesturing to the platform with a sigh.

Mischa grabs the platter of meat and food for a simple dinner for two and places it up in the center of the barn's platform, fighting not to giggle at her successful scheming.

Richard and Tasha sit alone on the platform of the barn, a simple platter of food between them in the night. They had come here after the rehearsal, intending to talk with other leaders, the Security and the Pride, and instead had found a small spread of food waiting for them. Richard had paused with narrowed eyes, suspicious, and Tasha had stopped, frozen in step as she stared at it. The anger rising from her had triggered his internal response of the same, but his own natural reaction to push down his emotions overruled it for a change. He had broken from his own halted movement first and pulled her to one side of the platter, sitting opposite her, cross legged.

They have sat in silence for a long minute, Tasha obviously angry and the emotion radiating off of her. Richard, though, finally grips his inner demons and shoves them down, until he forces himself to speak, rather than endure the silence.

"I'm sorry," he says in a strained voice, looking down at the platter between them, untouched.

Tasha blinks in surprise, focusing on his face now, not the platter as he had, "What?"

"I am sorry," he says slowly, his jaw clenching in the light of the full moon. "I failed you, and our children."

Tasha blinks in surprise, not expecting that, and she shakes her head, "No. It's my fault. I shouldn't have argued."

Richard snorts, "You always argue. It's one of the reasons I love you."

His voice trails off to a wistful tone with the last, still staring at the plate, his features taking on a sorrowful expression, "I failed you, and _our_ children paid the price. _You_ paid the price of my failure."

Tasha is shaking her head as he speaks, rising to her knees and pushing the plate to the side as she closes the distance between them. Richard's eyes finally rise up to meet hers, only a few inches away, as she is now nearly touching him. He stares into her eyes, long ignored, and they rivet him as they did when they first met.

"You did nothing wrong," she says with a shake of her head, her own dirty blond hair in a few small braids and loosely clasped behind her head. "No one could have done more. _No_ one. Believe that, my love."

He swallows on a tight throat, hearing her last words, and sincerity in her voice, "I'm sorry."

Tasha pulls her lips in, frowning for a moment as she realizes that he is apologizing for much more than just that moment, but the time in between. She moves the last of the distance between them and rubs her face against his, enjoying his scent on her scarred soul.

"I'm sorry, too," she says as tears escape her eyes, unable to hold them back.

He pulls her to him, rising to a kneeling position and kissing her fiercely, having missed her dearly. They clutch each other tightly, kissing passionately, and soon their desperation and voluntary separation overwhelm them. They tear their clothes off and make passionate love on the platform, in view of over a hundred shapeshifters, not caring in the least.

Richard lies on his back on the platform, watching the sunrise in the east. Tasha is next to him, an arm and leg thrown over him possessively, her prosthetic lost in the night and the stub resting on his thigh. He absently strokes her shoulder with his right hand, both naked in the rising light of day.

"That escalated quickly," she says with a slow smile, her face on his chest.

"Mine," he says with his own smile, leaning down and kissing her head, remembering the first time they made love, repeating the same words.

"I am upset at being managed by our people, though," she says with a disgruntled tone. "That was a trap."

"I will talk to my folks, you talk to yours, if you like, but my message will be simple," he says with a frown of his own. "I'm going to ignore they did it. Otherwise, I'll have to lecture them on the chain of command."

"The one you beat them with?" she asks with a smile and a near laugh.

He smiles and leans down, turning her head to him and kissing her with a smile.

"I missed you," he says, staring into her eyes. "I didn't realize how much you kept me grounded, until I didn't have you."

"I was right here," she says, her throat tight now, her face strained. "I missed you, too."

He wraps her in his arms and holds her tight, "I fucked up. I promise I won't do it again. I _need_ you, and I will do anything to keep you."

They hold each other tight in the dawn light for a few minutes more before they hear someone approach, and a familiar scent reaches them before a throat is cleared.

"If the Alphas are ready for the day?" Mischa asks, standing just off of the platform, holding folded clothes in her hands.

"Morning, Mish," Tasha says with a smile, rising enough to straddle Richard beneath her, and accepting the t-shirt from her.

"Not fair," Richard murmurs, closing his eyes and holding still.

"Who said anything about fair?" Tasha asks, pulling on the large shirt, then reluctantly sliding off and taking the sweatpants. She remains seated as she pulls them on and accepts a prosthetic to put on her leg. Richard catches a tossed pair of sweatpants and pulls his on as well, Mischa turned away politely.

"So, who engineered it?" Richard asks, standing up, his torso bare in the summer light, crisscrossed with black scars.

"It was me, with some help from Will and Hermano," she says with downcast eyes. "I had to push them hard, they didn't want to do it," she says, glancing at them.

"Hmm," Richard says non-committally, glancing at Tasha as he walks past the were-lion and down from the barn.

"I told you—," Tasha starts in a firm but soft voice as she stands, but Mischa interrupts.

"You said not to talk to him," she says quickly, glancing at the slightly shorter woman. "You didn't say I couldn't arrange for you to be able to talk to him yourself."

Tasha scowls, "A technicality. And the only reason I'm not actually pissed is because it worked."

Mischa smiles and nods, though her face has a note of sadness.

"What is it?" Tasha asks, focused on her best friend's expression.

"I'm going to miss you," Mischa says with a small shrug. "You're going to be all his again."

Tasha makes a moue in thought. Over the last few months, she and Mischa had spent more time together as she coped with her injury without her husband. They had reconnected, and had even fallen asleep together in peace, though not in a physical way, but they had grown much closer than ever before. Mischa had kept her from drowning in her depression, and had orchestrated her reconciliation with Richard.

"I owe you everything," Tasha says softly, closing to the taller woman, then wrapping her in a hug. "I can never repay that. And you will not be pushed aside. I will make room."

"It's good to have my BFF back to normal," Mischa says as she hugs the other woman back.

Richard walks past Will and Hermano in the backyard as he walks to the house, both standing straight as they prepare for the scolding to come.

"Come," he says as he walks past without pausing, still barefoot and in sweatpants.

He leads them into the bay attached to his house that contains his personal gym, and gestures them to stand to the side as he squares off with them. They stands with feet spread and hands behind their backs, preparing for an ass chewing. Instead, Richard ignores what they did and addresses business.

"You two have done well, since we lost Adam," he says as he glances between the two. "You've stepped up, and even though you needed some help, you asked for it when needed. And on occasion, fixed issues on your own."

The two exchange a surprised look, and Will speaks, "Thank you, Khan."

"But though you have done well, I need someone who can operate a bit more independently, and neither of you are experienced enough, yet, to do that," he says with a slight frown. "And I won't always be there to take up the slack."

"We know, sir," Hermano says with a duck of his head and glancing at Will. "We are trying, but…"

"I know," Richard says in a slightly soothing tone, his demeanor changed now since his reconciliation with Tasha. "I want you to bring me Mitchell, so I can talk to him."

"We understand, khan," Will says with a nod and small bow, then the two leave at the apparent dismissal. They are nearly at the door when Richard speaks again, making them pause.

"And thanks, by the way," he says, a solid nod to them when they look at him. "I needed the nudge."

"We are glad it helped," Will says simply, and the two leave him alone.

Richard sits in his soundproofed office at Hoffman Resources, Chief Ranger Roberts sitting across from him, the door closed. He is in his business outfit, light wool suit of gray, blue threads in this one, a vest and a dark green shirt with a blue tie. Roberts wears his usual leather and jeans, and is scowling in the seat across from Richard, a cup of coffee in hand.

"Why are you telling me this?" Richard asks after a moment of silence, Roberts having just told him of the meeting with the Mayor.

"Rick, I've know you for years, and I know you," he says with a half-smile and a shake of his head. "I watched you do good as a Merc and a deputy, and now as a leader of your own folks. The mayor is being overly cautious, and almost bigoted. I'm surprised."

"I'm not," Richard says with a sigh, shaking his own head as he looks at the hot tea on the table in front of him. "I would do the same, in his position. Have, actually."

"What do you mean?" Roberts asks, frowning now, then taking a sip of his coffee.

"I started making plans against the other players once I was put in charge of people," Richard says with a shrug. "You did, too, if you're honest about it. We're professionals, and I'm not insulted that he's taking me seriously as a potential threat. I would if the roles were reversed."

"Have you?" Roberts asks with a thoughtful frown. "Made plans against him?"

Richard chuckles, taking a sip of his tea before speaking, "I made plans against everyone. Including you, old man."

Roberts chuckles in response, shaking his head, then looking at Richard calmly for a moment, still smiling, "You look better, Rick. Better than the last few times I've seen you."

"I fixed some issues at home," Richard says honestly. "The demons are still there, but I feel better about them."

"Well, I may have to play ball, somewhat, with the Mayor's wishes to cut back on giving you contracts," Roberts says with a nod, having guessed as much about Richard's home life.

"Just send them to the Guild as open contracts," he says with a wave at the window and city beyond. "Someone will do them, if not me, as long as it gets done. I'll just have my folks keep a keener eye on the open contracts you put out. It'll cause a slight delay, but I'll still be here if you need me. I'm going to keep focusing on magic Hazmat, though."

"Have you noticed the change in frequency and tone over the last months?" Roberts asks, eyebrow quirked.

"I have," Richard says with his own frown. "I think it's a matter of the world balancing itself out. It wants to have a certain amount of danger and magic, but that may be more philosophical than you wanted."

Roberts snorts as he raises his mug for a sip, then says, "I ain't into yin and yang and all that, but I know a rising trend when I see it. Shit's spilling out of the Way more and more, even if fewer folks are trying to hide there, thanks to you."

"And weirder shit, too," Richard says, recalling a giant centipede with a man's head and torso with claws.

"I'm talking with the Order, closely. Reynolds is thawing in regards to you and the Horde, by the way," Roberts says.

"I've noticed," Richard says. "She won't offer contracts, but she's had some of her people mention some issues to my folks, that led me to help out some situations."

"I'm working with her to try and research the rise in that stuff from the Way and the magic waves. If you happen to find anything out…" he trails off with a vague wave of his mug.

"I'll visit the Rabbis," Richard says with a nod. "And I'll have someone talk to the Vohls and Witches. I don't have any contacts with the Mage Academy, though."

"We've got that covered," Roberts says with a nod. "It's the others we don't. And none of us have an insight with the People."

"They wouldn't share if they knew, and I doubt they would know," Richard says with a shake of his head. "They are very compartmentalized and focused. Their regional head might know, but she's too haughty and self-righteous to think they'd need outside assistance."

"When does the Nation's Casino open?" Roberts asks after a few moments of companionable silence.

"Next week," Richard says with a nod, looking at his calendar on the wall. "Soft opening this weekend, Grand Opening next weekend."

"I saw the paperwork when they filed with the State, and saw your name on it," he says. "Partner?"

"One of six," Richard confirms with a nod. "I'm on the board, and own fifteen percent of the company. I had to pull some favors and draw loans, but I think it's a good investment."

Roberts nods slowly, then looks carefully at his mug before looking back up at Richard, a more serious look on his face.

"Rick, I know we don't talk about it, but seeing as how you've bounced back from the events at the wedding, I want to say… I'm sorry," Roberts says seriously. "I heard she was pregnant, and lost the baby in the attack. No one deserves to go through that. You have mine, and Sarah's, deepest condolences."

"Thank you," Richard says with a firm nod and a sad frown. "It was twins, fraternal, a boy and a girl."

"Shit," Roberts says with a sad shake of his head. "I'm real sorry, Rick."

"You did nothing wrong," Richard says with a sympathetic smile and shake of his head, taking a breath to push past the pain. "And it is past. I'm moving on."

"Any word on who did it?" Roberts asks, his gaze serious and focused.

"No," Richard says, shaking his head. "All the leads dried up. I'm looking at oblique approaches, but there are too many, and nothing obvious. I think a real professional planned it, which means if we find anything, it will either be luck or deliberate on their part."

"If you need help, you let me know," Roberts says, then drinks the last of his coffee and stands. "It was good coffee, Rick."

"Thanks, Tom," Richard says as he stands, and they shake hands firmly over the desk.

Richard follows the Ranger out to the front, stopping at the desk and waiting until it is just him and Rebecca, the red headed secretary at the front desk.

"I need to speak to Hermano, see when he can free himself up, it's about our Merc Guild association," he says to the were-lynx at the desk.

"Damn, little brother," a woman's voice says from the opening door, and he turns at the familiar voice, hiding the surprise on his face. "You grew up a lot, and got civilized, looks like."

The brown haired woman who enters looks to be in her late thirties, solid of build, with some padding on a full figure that threatens to be plump. Her face is slightly pretty, falling short of captivating or beautiful, with brown eyes, and a shape to her jaw that is similar to Richard's. She is wearing a light wool, gray cloak with a silver brooch shaped like an eagle, jeans and a t-shirt with a messenger bag on her shoulder. She walks up to Richard, looking up from her just over five feet of height, smiling at him.

"Autumn?" he says with a twist of his head, and accepting her hug with one of his own. "I didn't know you left the Northeast."

"I read the paper, and saw your face on it," she says as she breaks apart from him with a scolding smile at him. "You should have checked in, let me know what happened. I went from scared to amazed, then happy and sad in one article. You shouldn't do that to your sister."

"Sorry," he says sincerely, looking her over and settling on her brown eyes. "You look like mom," he says softly, hugging her again, "and it has been far too long."

He holds her by the shoulders as they pull apart, and he smiles at her, then speaks over his shoulder.

"Rebecca, this is my sister," he says unnecessarily to the enhanced hearing of the secretary who watched it all with a bemused smile on her freckled face. "Call the Bastion, have them make up place for her to stay."

"No, no," Autumn protests, waving away at the secretary. "I have a reservation at a bed and breakfast, not far from here. I already checked in."

"Which one?" he asks curiously, smiling with a tilt of his head.

"A nice Scottish place, the Blue Kilt," she replies, smiling herself.

"Rebecca?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder.

"I'll have someone swing by and take care of it, her belongings will be waiting for her," the secretary says with a smile, writing on a notepad.

"I said— " she protests, but he interrupts, taking her arm in his and leading her outside.

"I'm in charge of a lot of people, and make good money," he says as they walk outside. "You are _not_ staying with strangers, even if I help them with their marketing. You will have to meet my wife and my new family."

"Wife _and_ family?" she says, shocked now. "Wow, you've been busy."

"Very," he agrees with a nod. "I had a couple of appointments, but they will reschedule."

"Being the boss has its perks, I suppose," she says with a smile in the summer sunlight, a light breeze stirring her cloak, revealing an eighteen inch long leaf bladed sword.

"Still practicing?" he asks, eyebrow quirking.

"Celtic witchcraft, yes," she says, touching where her pendant rests under her shirt. "Where are we going?"

"It's late for you, mid-day to me," he says, gesturing at the low, western sun. "We'll ride to the Bastion, talk along the way, and you can see my home."

"Rent horses?" she asks, spying the stable down the street. "I suppose. I don't ride as much as I used to."

"I own the stable and a number of the horses, you can borrow one of mine," he says automatically.

She stiffens slightly beside him, "Tony, I don't like charity. You know that."

"You're family, and I take care of my family," he says with a shake of his head as the walk to the front of the stable. " _You_ know that."

"Yes, I do," she says with a tight smile, looking up at him.

"What is _that_ doing there?" Autumn asks from her halted horse, looking at the longboat next to the cobbled road.

"It brought a few undead Vikings looking for a fight," he replies. "Now it just serves as a reminder."

"Of what?" she asks, looking up at the mast with has rope hanging to the sides of it, a few feet apart. "That magic is messing with the world."

"No," he chuckles, continuing to ride, and calling back as she starts moving again. "That the Khan is not weak, and he is not to be trifled with."

"Did you just say 'trifled with'?" she asks jokingly, then furrows her brow in thought. "And who is the Khan? The leader of your Pack?"

"Yes, he is," Richard says after calling the password to the gate, and it starting to open slowly. "And we are called the Horde now."

"Poetic," she says with a smile, her eyes widening as they ride through the gate, looking around at the rows of small, neat, simple houses behind the large log cabin, as well as the theatre and stadium. He lets her drink it in as he smiles and leads them to the barn right behind the house. He dismounts and hands the reigns to a teenage shapeshifter, who also takes Autumn's, and she finally snaps out of it.

"You have minions," she comments low, looking at the young man and others around the Bastion.

"They can still hear you just fine," he says with a smirk. "It's safe to assume that if you can throw a rock and hit them, they are close enough to hear you in anything but the softest whisper."

From behind the barn comes three large figures, two large female lions, the third a slightly smaller male tiger, though still the size of a non-magical tiger, all obviously shapeshifters in their animal forms. The lion to his far left has a leather and steel wrap on her back right leg, and walks awkwardly in it, the step not natural on the prosthetic. That lion walks right up to Richard and bumps her large, leonine head into his chest, nudging him back, then playfully batting at his legs, knocking him down as he laughs. Richard doesn't fight or resist on his back as Tasha places a large paw on his chest, then leans down and licks his cheek with her massive tongue once.

She looks up from Richard who is chuckling as he wipes the saliva on his cheek, and her eyes narrow as she looks at Autumn who has gone completely still. The witch had been startled at the appearance and then shocked at Tasha's behavior. Tasha's nose flutters as she scents her, then glances at Richard with a human-like raise of an eyebrow and twist of her head.

"My sister, Autumn," he says as he gets up, Tasha having moved to the side, allowing him up. "Mischa, grab her other foot, I'll take her to the picnic table."

The other were-lion trots to the small shed by the barn as Richard leads the lioness and his sister to the picnic table. Autumn sits at Richard's direction in the early night, the light fading from the sky, and she notices that a number of people are moving around, lighting torches around the complex.

"You live with all these people?" she asks, counting a couple dozen at least.

"They live with me," he replies, "and not all of them, and they aren't permanent residents. I keep a number of homes here empty, if someone needs a place to stay."

Mischa has returned from the shed, having ducked inside, shifted and put on a robe, holding another one in her hands along with Tasha's human prosthetic. Richard accepts the robe and prosthetic from her as his wife pushes herself to her hind legs and shifts. Richard has his arm around her torso as it shifts to a woman's waist, and she leans on him as the too large prosthetic falls off the stump of her right leg. She accepts the robe, not caring of her nakedness, but realizing the Autumn is staring at the change, and is not used to nudity as shapeshifters are.

"You didn't tell me she was coming," Tasha scolds Richard, leaning forward to use the table to balance and shake Autumn's hand. "I'm Tasha, Richard's wife. I'm glad to finally meet his family."

Autumn has snapped out of her amazement, though, and has risen, hugging her instead, "I didn't know I had a sister-in-law. It's great to meet you. And don't be mad at Tony, he didn't know, I surprised him."

Tasha returns the hug with a smile, and turns her head after to give Richard a look.

"Long story," he says with a twist of his lips.

"Not so long," Autumn says, disagreeing with a shake of her head. "We changed our names when we left home. He helped us get away from that place, and find new homes, after he'd been in the Army for a little while."

"I couldn't leave you there," he says with a frown and shake of his head, kneeling as Tasha sits, starting to put on her prosthetic for her. "Bad memories, and the people there weren't good for you. Have you talked to Chrissy?"

"She's too busy at the law firm to be able to get away," she says with a lopsided smile. "She sends her love. And asked me to give you this."

She leans over and slaps his head in a definite sibling manner, "You need to contact us more often. The phone number you gave us doesn't work."

"I moved a while ago, and things are dangerous here, for people who know me," he says with a shrug.

"Your face in the paper of the New York Times talking about a rare case of someone surviving an attack from six loups and his rise to fame in Houston hinted at that," she says sarcastically.

Tasha smiles at the byplay, "Richard does have a tendency to be overprotective. But it's one of the reasons I love him."

"So who's this Khan that Richard was talking about?" she asks, looking back at the gate and at the shapeshifters all around. "I guess I should meet him, since he's your boss, right? Make sure it's okay to be visiting."

Richard chuckles and Tasha laughs outright as he finishes the last strap on the prosthetic. Autumn looks at them in confusion, only the three of them in the immediate area.

"What?" she asks, not in on the joke. "What's funny?"

"Richard Michaels," Tasha says with a wave at him. "The Khan of the Houston Horde."

" _You're_ the Khan?" Autumn says in disbelief. "You only got infected a couple years ago."

"I've been busy," Richard says as Tasha and he stand, Autumn doing likewise. "Let's go inside and catch up, it's quieter, and you can see how I live now. It's good to see you, sis."

"I like her," Tasha says, looking out the back window as Mischa is guiding the human through the gathering shapeshifters for the weekly hearings. "I can see the similarities. So, she's the oldest?"

"Four years older than me," Richard says from the table, sipping on a beer, Tasha standing by the sink in jeans and a t-shirt. "Chrissy is two years older than me."

"Your two brothers?" Tasha asks, he not talking about this part of his history much, turning back to him and the table.

"Two and six years younger than me," he says with a frown. "They died before I was twelve. They weren't a good passings. One of the reasons I did what I did to our father."

"I'm sorry," Tasha says, walking over and placing her hand on his shoulder. "But you ended him, and it sounds like you got your siblings out."

"Chrissy is a lawyer in Miami, loves the heat, and Autumn is an herbalist in the Appalachians in New York," he says, nodding at where his sister went. "I got them new, clean IDs, when I got into the Rangers. Then did the same for myself when I left the army."

"Your given name is Tony?" she says playfully.

"I kept it as my middle name," he says defensively, shrugging. "I found a new life, here, and kept it. Then this happened."

He gestures around himself, meaning the Bastion. Tasha picks up her leather vest from the chair as he moves to the bedroom to change into more appropriate clothing for the Horde's petitions. He emerges a few minutes later in jeans, black leather vest over a white t-shirt, his gladius and axe on his belt with knives. Tasha is finishing a cup of tea, and rises to join him, leading him out the door.

When she is on the porch he lunges forward and pinches her butt playfully and she involuntarily yelps, hopping in the air as she does and spinning on him. He has dodged to the side, a smile on his face as he plays with her in view of the gathering shapeshifters. She lunges after him, and he vaults the railing, jogging away to the stage.

"Coward," she playfully calls after him, grinning, her hand on the hilt of the sabre on her hip as she starts to walk down from the porch.

"You can beat me for it later," he calls back to her with a smile as he starts to reach the gathering crowd.

"Tease me with a good time," she retorts, and Richard chuckles as he starts greeting members of the Horde as he works through those gathered to the table on the raised platform near the barn.

Autumn watches in awe as she stands next to the dark haired woman who had been escorting her around, she presumes to keep an eye on her. She watches as her little brother sits as judge and jury to the personal and professional lives of these people. She had known he killed things for a living, but this is something she had not been ready for. As she watches, the third case of the night starts.

It's an older man, in his fifties, a rough beard on his face peppered with gray, his hair shaved off, and wide, muscular arms on a thick padded torso and tree trunk legs. He stands nearly six and a half feet tall, and heavy as he stomps forward in front of the stage, a slight, pretty younger woman beside him. Richard reads from a sheet, but she can't hear him at this distance, though she assumes the shapeshifters can. He talks to the man, and prompts the woman to talk, but the man cuts him off.

Autumn blinks in surprise when Richard's eyes flare with orange light, reminding her that shapeshifters can do that, and he speaks sharply to the man. The man looks unrepentant, and says something she doubts is an apology. To her surprise, Richard rises sharply from his seat at the small desk, knocking the chair back. He vaults the table and lands in the dirt in front of the man, his knees bent.

The man has stalked forward and swings his giant fist at Richard, faster than a man that big should. She is pulled from her observation as the woman next to her has placed a hand on her shoulder. She realizes she has drawn her sword and started forward, but she pauses as she realizes the fight hasn't stopped, and Richard does not need her help.

The man had missed him, as Richard ducked under the heavy swing, swaying to the side and jabbing his palm at the man's side. He dodges and attacks, his hands coming away bloody every time, though she can't see the blade he must be using.

"He is capable of taking care of himself," the woman says beside her, admiration in her voice. "John was using a prostitute, and refused to pay, one who happened to also be in the Horde. It is not illegal, but he must pay. She is a fox, he is a bear."

"He's better than I remember," Autumn says, her eyes not leaving the fight, slowly sheathing her sword. "I don't think I've ever seen someone so fast."

"Neither have I," Mischa agrees, staring as well.

The fight is ending, the bleeding were-bear gasping as the loss of blood hits his system, making him exhausted. Richard is now circling the larger man, his stride full of purpose and confidence. He speaks loud enough for everyone and Autumn to hear.

"The strong protect the weak, they do _not_ take advantage of them," Richard says in a tone Autumn recognizes from her occasional dealings with soldiers. "You will pay her, and you will perform heavy labor for two weeks at the Castle. Take him away."

Two men in matching jeans and blue t-shirts with weapons move forward and secure the wounded man, dragging him away. Richard easily hops the three feet to the platform, and resumes his seat next to Tasha, who righted his chair for him while he fought.

"Like a khan at a barbarian court," Autumn mutters.

"We are not barbarians," Mischa says with a chiding tone. "I'm a paralegal and work with the county courts, we have cooks, waitresses, mechanics, doctors, all in the Horde. Like any group of people, we also have hotheads and some who make poor decisions. We're people, too."

"I'm sorry," Autumn says with a look around. "He was my little brother for twenty years, and I rarely ever saw him work. And never anything like this."

"He is good for us," Mischa says with a nod. "And I think we are good for him. We've given him purpose."

"He definitely has that now," she agrees, looking around in wonder again. "And employees. Do you work for him?"

"I am a were-lion, and the Beta for my Pride," Mischa says with a smile. "Mischa."

"That was you, earlier?" she asks.

"Yes."

"What does Beta mean?"

"I am second, Tasha is my Alpha, and dominant to all the other females," Mischa says with a look around. "I'm with you so that everyone understands your place, and don't take offense of you, or offend you."

"Offend me?" she asks, surprised.

"With a group this large, there is politics," Mischa shrugs. "Accidents happen, and the khan works hard to avoid them."

"He really killed three giant, undead Vikings?" she asks, looking carefully at Mischa.

"That and much, much more," she confirms with a nod. "If you stay long enough, you will be able to talk to some of his cats, the security, and hear the tales yourself."

Autumn nods, intending to do exactly that.

Richard is standing on the stage in the Bastion's theatre as Alphas of all the Clans assemble, Mitchell with him, Tasha as well.

"You understand what I want?" Richard asks the were-jaguar.

"Full background and recent activity, dating back a couple months, say sixty days," the black man says, looking down at his notes to make sure he doesn't miss anything. "Confirm the story is legit, see if there's any irregularities or indicators of illicit or dangerous activity."

"Good," he replies with a nod of confirmation, Mitchell new to his position as head of security and Richard's tactical Beta, Alex his business Beta.

Mitchell leaves Richard and the Alphas to their meeting, all sitting on simple folding stools on the stage. Before they start, Domasca clears his throat to speak first.

"I would like to congratulate the Khan on his reunion with his family," he says nodding at Richard and Tasha. "We were not aware you had other family."

"It was not relevant," Richard says as he looks around the group. "But she is here now. Are there any problems with that?"

"She is human," Bridgette comments from beside her husband, a human witch who married a werewolf. "A Celtic witch, from what I see. Is she staying?"

"I don't know yet," Richard says, shrugging. "I'll work it out and inform the council if necessary. On to business."

They talk for over an hour on details in the Horde, mostly personal issues among the members, and large events upcoming, specifically the opening of the Casino.

"The People have been trying to block my financial transactions and muddle businesses," Richard says to the council. "I'm going to send a delegation to arrange for a sit down between us and their leadership. They don't want the competition, and I want to soothe their egos so they don't try to push us too far. Competition is good for business, but I don't want it to spill out beyond that. It could start a war."

"I am constantly surprised that you avoid the conflict, khan," Thomas Domasca says with furrowed brow.

"I know it will come, some day, but we will not be the antagonists," he says to the group. "Those who start it will lose public opinion, and we're already on the negative side of that."

"It has gotten better, though," the Rat Alpha says, Daniel Torres. "The community service events we've been doing has really helped, and the stigma is not what it once was."

"We must keep working, hard, to maintain our agenda," Tasha reminds everyone. "This is the foundation that we are building. Everything after depends on it."

"Yes, Alphas," the council intones as Richard and Tasha rise, ending the council meeting.

"You surprise me, sometimes," Tasha says in the house, cooking in the kitchen, Richard setting the table. "Though I shouldn't be, it still does from time to time."

Richard has suggested that they spend at least one day a week cooking and doing their own meal, a surprisingly domestic action. He knows they had grown apart, and wants to get them reconnected, not just the leaders of the Horde, but a husband and wife as well.

"You mean about Autumn?" he asks, glancing at her as he pulls a bottle of Pinot Noir wine from the small rack by the back door.

"You're doing a background check and investigating her," she says with a rueful smile. "If I didn't know you so well, I'd be insulted. But you're just being thorough, as usual."

"I don't doubt her, but it's been a long time," he says with a shrug, setting the table.

"How long?" she asks, glancing over her shoulder after flipping the steaks on the skillet.

"I haven't talked to her or Chrissy since about six months before I was infected," he says thoughtfully. "It was Chrissy's birthday, and I would send regards and sometimes call. Send flowers or something. I still do, I just don't call, and I use cutouts."

"You use spycraft when buying flowers for your sisters?" Tasha says in a surprised tone, turning from the stove to him.

"We have powerful enemies, no secret there," he says with spread arms. "When they find out about them, they can be used against me as leverage, they are liabilities. Anonymity _was_ their greatest asset."

"Was?" Tasha says tilting her head. "You think the cat is out of the bag?"

"We talked before about a mole in the Horde," he says with a sigh. "And we know the other factions keep tabs on us. The way she came here and contacted me, I'd bet money that the People and the Nation know. The Vikings and the rest will know in the next couple days that I have at least one sister. Then it's just a matter of time."

Tasha returns to the stove, quiet and thoughtful for a few moments before saying with feeling, "Fuck."

"Exactly," Richard says, sitting at the table with another sigh, bending over and placing his face in his hands. "I'm going to have to talk to her about it."

"Mischa likes her," Tasha says over her shoulder, putting the meat on a platter. "And I do, too. What do you have in mind?"

"See if she's interested in moving to Houston," he says with a shrug, standing and taking the platter from her as she puts the vegetables and potatoes in dishes. "Not much else to do. I may have to travel to Florida to contact Chrissy and do the same. She's not a partner yet in her law firm, but she's moving up. It won't be an easy decision for her, and she's married with two kids, last I checked."

"The Atlanta Pack has asked for a face to face with you and Curran," Tasha says as she places the dishes on the table and she sits as Richard pours wine. "You could knock out two birds with one stone, visit the Beast Lord and talk to your sister. It would be less obvious to outsiders."

"A good idea," Richard says, sitting. "I'll have Alex send word."

Tasha watches as Richard bows his head with folded hands and says a quick prayer before nodding and making the sign of the cross. He raises his head and picks up his glass in a toast.

"To marriage," he says with a smile, staring at her eyes.

"I love you," Tasha says with feeling as she raises her own glass, staring back at him.

"I love you, too," he replies with a grin, and they drink and eat quickly before retiring and making love.

"He ripped the jaw off of a were-lion in warrior form?" Autumn asks, awe in her voice as she sits on the barn's platform with Mischa, her mind struggling to conjure the image.

She had ascended the beams slowly and carefully, her balance and ability to land from heights not what the shapeshifters' are. Once up here, she had to admit that it did have a great view of the surrounding area, what they call the Bastion.

"Yes," Mischa says with a grin, sipping Moscato wine with the khan's sister, who also has a glass. "It was awesome. Gruesome, for certain, but awesome for all that."

"You really do like him," Autumn says with a tilt of her head at the younger woman.

"He's good for Tasha, and for the Horde," Mischa says with a nod. "He's improved the income of nearly everyone in the city, with the way he manages Hoffman Resources, and he's been a great positive influence on the shapeshifters in the area."

"No, you _like_ him like him," Autumn says after a sip of her own wine.

"I'm gay, I don't do guys," Mischa disagrees with a shake of her head. "I used to date Tasha, though, which is why I pay attention."

"I never realized how much Richard does," she says, deliberately using his current name, though it sounds odd to her.

"I knew it wasn't his real name," Mischa says with a knowing smile. "I'm not asking what it is, but after working with him for so long, it doesn't surprise me. He's that kind of person."

"What kind of person?" Autumn asks, curious what these people think of her little brother.

"He's protective, and careful, even if he sometimes seems to do things impulsively, there's always a reason for it, always," she says with an admiring shake of her head. "He was not a power player before he became a were-tiger, he had no magic, just a good merc. Since he got power, he's been forced into our society, and he's excelled. I think his Army background is the greatest influence there."

"Did you say he's a tiger?" Autumn asks, confusion on her face.

"His animal form is bigger than what you saw me and Tasha in," Mishca says with wide eyes of her own. "And his warrior form is simply amazing. Well proportioned like an artist drew it, and he has armor for it. No one has seen anyone fight with armor and weapons in warrior form before he came."

"I always thought he would be a jaguar," Autumn says after shaking her head to push the shock away. "It was his totem when we were growing up. But I thought he was attacked by bear, wolf, leopard, jaguar and mongoose Loups? Not a tiger."

"He wasn't," Mischa says with a shake of her head. "Locally they know he's tiger, but not outside Texas, I think. He works hard to keep it that way, though some have found out and come to us because of it. Many of us think he was chosen by the Magic to be a tiger, and to lead us."

"The Magic?" Autumn asks with a smile of her own.

"Whatever you believe in, Celtic, Slavic, Greek or Christian," Mischa says with a half shrug, taking a sip of wine before pouring herself more. "What he's become, what he's done," she shakes her head definitely. "It cannot be coincidence. I don't believe that."

"My brother, the Khan," Autumn says with a shake of her head, looking in the distance with a sigh. "I didn't expect this."

"I don't think he did either," Mischa shrugs. "But it is what it is."

"Que sera sera," Autumn agrees, Latin for "whatever will be, will be". "But I think I need to talk to him, then. About some other things."

"What other things?" Mischa asks, her focus on the witch now.

"It's complicated," Autumn admits. "It's probably better if I just go straight to Richard about it. And you know how he is about information."

"Yes, I do," Mischa says with a small smile. "But he delegates more often now. Specifically to Tasha and me, as well as _his_ cats."

"What time does he usually get up?" she asks, looking at the other woman as she orders her thoughts.

"Eight or so, after a late night like tonight. He sleeps less than anyone I know," Mischa says with a shake of her head.

"Can someone wake me at seven?" she asks. "I'll work out then talk to him."

"I'll pass word, on both," she says with a nod. "If he isn't told, he'll jump right into the day without a pause."

"Well, some things haven't changed," Autumn says with a laugh, drinking more wine.

Richard is sitting on the platform of the barn, having finished a weightlifting workout and now meditating before cleaning up and heading to Hoffman's. He can hear, then smell, as Autumn slowly and carefully walks up the beams to the top of the barn. She pauses as she steps on the platform, and he speaks before she can.

"What's up, sis?" he asks, not opening his eyes or changing his position.

"That's kind of creepy," she says as she sits awkwardly next to him, not flexible to sit in the lotus position as he is. "Not looking or anything."

"I can hear the pans clinking in the house as Nita makes Tasha breakfast, I can smell the natural fox den five hundred yards upwind," he says with a small smile. "It's a capability thing, showing the people who I work with that I'm good at what I do. So, what's up?"

He looks at her with the last repeated question, and she has a pensive look on her face.

"I'll be honest, I didn't just come to visit," she says with a frown.

"I guessed as much," he says. "What's going on, and how can I help?"

"You don't even know what is going on, and you're already willing to help?" she asks, tilting her head.

"I trust you, and you're family," he says solidly. "I will do what I can. It is my nature, you know that."

She sighs, "I pissed off the Druids who live near Boston."

"Boston?" he asks, eyebrow quirked.

"They were visiting upstate New York for a business thing, and stopped in my shop for ingredients. They were less than kind to the thought of a woman magic user, words were exchanged, and I might have cursed one of them."

"Might have?" he asks, doubtful.

"I did, okay," she amends, frowning and not meeting his eyes. "Erectile dysfunction, not just during magic waves, but lingering aftereffects that last through the tech."

"That's a complicated spell," he says with a chuckle at the thought. "You've gotten better."

"Well, they were not amused," she says with a sigh. "They came back and burned down the shop, and I went to New York City to lay low with a friend. That's when I saw the article about you in Houston."

"So what do you want to do?" he asks, forcing himself to not jump on the situation and lay out the options. This is his sister, not one of his people whom he will manage indiscriminately as needed.

"I don't know," she admits with a shrug. "I don't have anything but what I got on me, and my bags. And I borrowed money to get here, which was way more expensive than I thought it would be."

"I'll take care of the debt," Richard says with a wave. "And if you'd like, you can stay here with me. I can help you get a job, a place of your own, if you don't want to stay here."

"I can't just let you fix things like that," she disagrees, shaking her head. "I'm not some weak waif that needs charity."

" 'We're stronger together'," he says with obvious quotes. "You said that to me, when we were kids. You helped me cope, until I was strong enough and smart enough to help us all. The same applies now. Pay me back when you can, how you can."

Autumn sighs, "Richard, I don't want to do this to you. You have a great thing going here."

"And it will be better, with you here, as well," he says with a definitive nod. "Even if you say no, I'm going to take care of you, you might as well accept it."

"You have _not_ changed," she says with a sigh, covering her face with her hands. "You don't have to be the hero."

He snorts, "I'm not a hero, I'm the khan. And family are the ones that when you need it, they help you, whether you want them to or not."

"I hate you sometimes," she says with a sigh through her hands, and he just laughs in response.

Richard is sitting in the second floor conference room with Mitchell, Will, Hermano and Alex, as well as Tasha and Mischa. They just heard Mitchell's report on Autumn, and Richard had laid out his intent to visit the Northeast, Atlanta and a small trip to Florida.

"You'll take the same ones who went with you on your Odyssey, I presume?" Tasha asks.

"No," Richard says with a look around the table. "Those who went with me last time I trust unreservedly, they will stay here to ensure things are okay while I am gone. I will take others to confirm their loyalty and ability."

"Who?" Tasha asks, the subtle insult of lack of trust to others ignored.

"Mr. Domasca and Mischa, from the Horde, with a single security person from Heavy, Rat, Jackal and Bouda, with a few other select persons," he says simply, glancing around at his small council. "That will appease the other Clans, so they are not insulted at not being included, and gives us enough people to be able to do things, as necessary. I'll also ask Ragnar if he will permit hiring some of his people for extra hands and security."

"The sons?" Alex says with a nod. "They've been restless, working jobs with the Merc Guild, and doing well as a contract pair. I think they'll jump at the chance, having not been able to close with and destroy the tank during the wedding."

Richard takes a breath at the mention of the emotional event for him, but pushes the anger away and continues, "I want to leave in a week or so, after we've set everything up for my absence. It's been brought to my attention that someone may challenge Tasha soon. I'm trusting those here to handle that while I'm gone."

"Jameson has been very valuable in that regard," Mischa says from next to Tasha. "She respects you for your fighting ability immensely, and has been fully supportive of the Nimir-ra. Anyone who wishes to challenge for the female Alpha will have to get through her first."

"I know you are capable, love," Richard says before Tasha can speak, her mouth open. "But until your leg is healed, if it regrows, you are not as strong or fast as others. If she takes out the prosthetic, you're grounded and slow, even if deadly. I don't want to take that chance."

"I understand," Tasha forces out with a clenched jaw. "In better news, though, your sister has looked at it, and thinks she can work some spells to help regeneration, she's researching it now."

"Speaking of my sister," he says with a look around. "She's human, and not the first one that has association with the Horde. I'm granting her Friend of the Horde status, not a member, but she is to be watched and helped if necessary. Questions?"

"I've talked with her, and was there when she spoke with Mrs. Domasca about working at Herb 'n Legend," Alex says, him the business expert in the room. "I am surprised they didn't end up yelling at each other in ancient tongues and throwing curses at each other. The paint nearly scorched."

"They did not get along well," Will says dryly from next to him, having been the security for the meeting.

"What do you think of her expertise?" Richard asks, glancing at Alex and Tasha.

"She sounds confident and knowledgeable," Alex says, gesturing at Tasha to continue.

"She knows her shit," Tasha says without hesitation. "She may be better than Bridgette, which is why she doesn't get along with her. She's threatened and is reacting in a shapeshifter way, because she is the Wolf female Alpha."

"Thoughts on setting her up with her own shop?" Richard asks, glancing again at the two.

"Expensive," Alex says. "Set up costs will not be cheap, though I know a place in the North part of town that has a greenhouse and will work. We'll need to do a full investment."

Richard mentally goes over his finances as he turns to Tasha, "And?"

"She's got a decent head on her," Tasha says with a nod. "But we'd be better and more secure if we partner her with a good manager, to ensure she's set up for success. I think Atticus would jump at the chance to get out of the shop he's working for, and be an assistant manager for her. The pay would be better, and hours more regular, plus he's familiar with magic workings, even if not as good as her, as well as Irish by birth and upbringing."

"I agree," Richard says with a nod, his mind working the same path. "Alex, work up papers and contract with reasonable split with her as the founder, us as the support to fade out once she's stable. Mitchell?"

"I'll work the details to get you on the trip," Mitchell says, his dark skinned and faded black hair turned down to his note pad. "I assume you'll speak to the Alphas on getting their people with me to work out details."

"I will, and I'll talk to Autumn, too," he says with frown. "I may take her with us, as magic backup, and since it's her issue we're settling in Boston."

"She'll want to go with you," Mischa says from next to Tasha. "She's like you, that way."

"But _I_ am khan," he says with a touch of authority in his voice, his eyes flashing briefly. "Once the plan for the store is complete, I will make the decision. Is there anything else to discuss?"

"Domasca will likely fight at being pulled from town for a period, for reasons similar to your own," Mitchell observes, looking around. "Their female beta is not known for her cool and level head."

Richard glances at Tasha and Mischa, "Can we get help from the social side to handle that until we get back?"

Tasha purses her lips in thought, "The wolves were the last to come into the fold, and we're still working our networks and favors. Unless a social situation arises that needs our help, we'll have to use money to get cooperation. Domasca is a good Alpha, but he doesn't hook up his people as well as we and Heavy do with their jobs."

"I have a couple ideas, that may help keep the peace," Mischa says with a thoughtful frown. "It'll cost though."

"Alex, keep in synch with Tasha, give her what she needs while I'm gone," Richard says, glancing at the were-lynx, who is also taking notes. "Use the Horde's account, not my personal one, this is a group dynamic. I'm taking Thomas because I need Alphas with me when I see Curran, or I'll look solitary or weak. Plus, they know Domasca, and his attitude around me will be a solid reflection for them to assess me and the climate of the Horde."

"Got it," he says, writing.

"Anything else?" he asks, looking around, getting shaking heads in return. "We have stuff to do, let's be about it."

"Are you joking?" Autumn asks at the picnic table behind Richard's house at the Bastion, them eating sausage and baked beans she had cooked while he'd come here from Hoffman's.

"Not in the least," he says, chewing his meat slowly as he looks directly at her. "It's actually a standard deal with Horde members. When you're making money, you start a payment plan that's reasonable, and if you want, you can buy out my partnership."

"You don't have to do that," she says with a shake of her head. "I can figure things out on my own."

"I know you can," he says soothingly, smiling at her. "But with a little bit of help from me, you'll be running at the outset, instead of walking or crawling to build your base. You know your shit, I think you'll do well."

"I'm not comfortable with this," she says, shaking her head.

"Talk with Alex about the contract, contact a lawyer if you like, whoever you want, and I'll cover that, too," he says with a hard look at her. "It's not favoritism, any more than it is with anyone else who works with the Horde."

"When did you become a freaking boss?" she says with exasperation as she shakes her head and looks at him. "I mean, shit, I'm here a day and you've got this worked out already."

"This is what I do," he says with a shrug. "And that's not all. I'm taking a trip, to Boston, Atlanta, then to Florida."

She narrows her eyes at him, her anger rising, "I know Boston, and don't agree. Chrissy is in Florida, so I get that, but why Atlanta?"

"I have Horde business there," he says simply, still eating and ignoring the looks she's giving him. "I'd like you to come with me so we can sort out the issue in Boston together. After that, we'll take care of my business in Atlanta, then just the two of us will visit Chrissy. I need to talk to her about the same thing I'm about to talk to you about."

He sets down his beer and sets his food aside as he says the last and she looks at him suspiciously now.

"What are you about to talk to me about?" she asks slowly, finishing the food in her mouth and putting her own fork down.

"I have enemies, dangerous, powerful enemies who have lots of money," he says simply. "They are not people who are to be underestimated, these are James Bond, Superman, Avengers level bad guys. They will not hesitate to use my family against me."

He stops there, looking at her and letting her work out the rest. After a few moments she scowls hard and looks away, having connected the dots.

"I don't really have a choice," she says with a near growl.

"You do," he says with a sigh, shaking his head as she turns to look at her. "But I'm honest, so I'm telling you that I'm looking at trying to protect a lot of people, men, women and children, and their futures. I can't protect you or help you if you are somewhere far away, and I won't lie and promise I can help you every time. I have a lot of responsibility, you can see that."

He gestures around them and she nods agreement, "I understand. And you want me to come help tell Chrissy, so she doesn't think it's just you being paranoid."

"And you have strong magic," he adds, twisting his head. "That will be useful, too."

"Ever the practical one," she says with a sigh, shaking her head as Tasha comes out of the back of the house in jeans, white blouse and brown leather vest. "Will your blushing bride be coming along?" she asks, resuming her meal.

"I have to stay and keep things under control in the Khan's absence," Tasha says as she sits next to Richard, pulling a plate over and putting food on it. "It's not the first time, and I doubt it will be the last."

Autumn looks between the two for a long moment before saying, "It infuriates me sometimes, with the way you are… but it fits you well. All of this, and you two, together."

"Thank you," Tasha says first, smiling at the older woman.

"Thanks, sis," Richard says with his own smile, then continuing his meal with his family.

"Ooh," Autumn says excitedly around a piece of sausage, remembering something. "I heard you're going to Temple tomorrow, to visit the Jews."

"Yes, I have to do some research and speak with the Rabbis," Richard says, sipping his beer.

"I've never been to a Jewish Temple," she says wistfully, giving him a pleading look. "I hear they have a _huge_ library, with books _and_ scrolls."

"You want to come?" he asks, smiling at his sister, Tasha laughing softly.

"Pleeeease," she says in a childlike voice.

"Okay," he says with a chuckle, shaking his head. "But you have to behave, no touching, be polite, and they may not let you in. They are very strict on their admittance protocols."

"I read Hebrew," she says proudly, smiling as she picks up her glass of wine. "As well as Latin, Greek, French, old Irish and three runic derivatives. I would be valuable as a translator and researcher."

Richard smiles at her efforts to get access, "I got it, I'll mention that when I talk to the Rabbis, but I make no promises."

"I hear they have rooms and rooms of nothing but old books, from before the Shift, warehouses full," she says excitedly.

"They do," he says with a smile. "It's very well organized, too. But also very controlled. It's not like a regular library where you just wander around, they keep an overseer with you, to make sure you don't damage anything or go where you are not supposed to."

"Richard is actually liked by the Rabbis," Tasha says with a smile. "Last year they had one of the more senior Rabbis go rogue and build a Golem in the Pegasus Way. Richard tracked him down, destroyed the golem and brought the Rabbi in to the Temple for them to handle, kept the authorities out of it."

"What haven't you done?" Autumn asks with a shake of her head. "Fought Einjenhar, were-lions, golems. Next you'll be saying you killed an owlbear."

"He was actually a chimera-were that preferred a hybrid eagle/bear form," Tasha says with a smile as Richard sighs and rolls his eyes. "He was the previous Pack Lord, and Richard killed him for committing regicide with his own wife."

"You're fucking kidding me," Autumn says in a flat tone and a slack face. "Anything else I should know?" she asks rhetorically.

"I destroyed a tank by myself, and can use magic when the tech is up," Richard says after a pause looking flatly at his sister. "The tank killed many members of the Horde and my unborn children on the day Tasha and I were married."

Autumn is shaking in her head in shock, absorbing the bit about magic, then hit by the comment of his lost children, and she pulls her hand to her mouth.

"The same attack took my foot, as well," Tasha says with a tight expression and nod to her leg.

"I am _so_ sorry," she says with wide eyes, moving up and across to hug him, her eyes tearing up. "I didn't know. That's horrible."

"It is past, sis," Richard says softly. "We are working past it. Let's finish dinner, I have some training to do with my Kung Fu teachers, then tomorrow we'll see the Rabbis together."

"So, Pegasus Way," Autumn says, gesturing to the magic choked street just beyond the gates of the Temple. "It keeps its magic regardless of tech or magic wave. I've always wondered how that is possible."

"It is theorized, that it's the beginning manifestation of magic reasserting itself in the world," Richard says as they dismount their horses, having come alone to the Temple. "Ley lines and these magic choked areas in the vicinity of large concentrations of people are the only places that keep magic, regardless, and they are spreading."

"It's spreading?" Autumn asks, surprised as she ties off her horse on the posts in front of the Temple, a large stone golem in the shape of a minotaur in front of the Temple, a steel helmet covering its head and the writing there that animates it.

"Slowly," Richard says with a nod. "Most folks don't know, and those in charge try to downplay it. That is actually why we're here."

"What do you have to do with the spread of magic?" she asks, slightly confused.

"I'm on a council of leaders for the city and surrounding area, about a third of Texas, and we've noticed an upward trend in magic areas and creatures," he says as they walk past the golem, the head of it follows them but the body does not move. "I'm here to talk to the Rabbis and see if they know anything, as they have one of the best information networks on the continent."

"You're like a private eye and a secret agent rolled into one," Autumn says with a rueful smile and shake of her head. "I knew you were into big stuff, but this is kind of crazy."

"This is my life," he says, not disagreeing as he approaches the front door.

She is wearing jeans, a black t-shirt and her cloak, messenger bag and sword, and he in jeans, black leather vest and his weapons over a red t-shirt. The receptionist is a nice woman Richard has met before and he makes polite conversation with her for a few moments, during which the magic crashes and tech rules the world. Shortly, a young Rabbi in his mid-thirties in distinctive black robe and curly hair enters the front lobby to meet him. Richard turns from the receptionist with a smile and extends his hand.

"Josef," he says, smiling and the pronunciation a y at the beginning. "It is good to see you, how is the family?"

"We are good," he replies, shaking hands with a smile and slight bow. "The car dealership is doing very well, and my son is about to graduate with his marketing degree."

"Eager to cut me out, I presume?" Richard jokes with a smile, Hoffman's providing the marketing portion of his family's business.

"Absolutely," Josef says with a light chuckle. "You are well priced and very good, but it would be better if it is kept in the family."

"It is always better, if kept in the family," Richard agrees, then turns to Autumn, who has politely waited at his side. "Speaking of family, this is my sister, Autumn O'Connell."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Rabbi," she says in Yiddish, bowing respectfully.

"And you as well," Josef says with a slightly surprised expression in the same language. "You study the Torah?"

"I am a student of all history and learning," she replies in the same tongue.

"I did not know you had a sister, khan," Josef says in English, with a look at Richard and back at Autumn. "I do see the resemblance. If you would leave your weapons here, I may guide you to the Elders."

"Of course," Richard says, pulling his thick leather belt off and handing it to the receptionist, then removing the knives from his boots and taking off his vest with the additional concealed weapons.

Josef leads them through a set of double doors and a corridor to an antechamber, where a much older man with all grey hair and also in the traditional robes of a Rabbi waits. Josef stops before him and turns to Richard, his face pensive.

"We understand that you have enhanced your ability to shift, Khan," he says with a small frown. "We know of your warrior form, as does much of the city, but we also know your ability to partially shift. The Elders require that you take a blood oath, that you will not take undue actions while in our Temple. That you will act in an honorable fashion, and not act in violence in the presence of the Elders."

"I will swear that I will not act unless myself or my sister are placed in harm's way," Richard says as his right hand flashes with claws and he draws blood from his left palm. "I am a soldier, and will act to defend myself or anyone else placed in harm's way."

Josef looks to the older man, who makes a sour face, but nods, and raises his hands in a chant, sealing the blood oath on the fluid slowing running down Richard's arm.

"Come," Josef says with a tight smile, and leads them out of the antechamber.

He brings them through the double doors and into an office that has plain marble walls with little ornamentation and six wooden desks against the walls. The room is twenty yards across and square, with six traditional looking chairs set out in a semi-circle with a pair of chairs in the center. Richard moves to the chair on the right without prompting, Autumn to his left, as he had explained to her during the ride here how the process will go.

"Gentlemen," Richard says as he sits, nodding to the older men circled around him. "It is good to see you all again. This is my sister, Autumn O'Connell. She is fluent in a number of languages and is a practicing Celtic Witch."

"Do you worship the true Celtic fashion, or do you prefer the Welsh pantheon?" one of the old Rabbis asks, tilting his head back to look down his nose at her.

"I look at it more holistically," she responds in Yiddish, hoping to impress them with her fluency and ability. "The Celtic pantheon, as well as Welsh and Nordic, were derivatives of an older pantheon founded in Germany and Gaul. I see them as reflections of the same belief, with the strength of that specific pantheon waxing or waning based on the belief of the local humans."

"Your sister is a learned woman," the oldest of the Rabbis, sitting in the center of the arch, says slowly and deliberately in English, a white haired man in his nineties. "I am _un_ surprised that you are related. Though disappointed that you do not speak our words, as she does."

"I am learning your written word, Rabbi," Richard says respectfully with a slight seated bow. "I have many things on my plate, and there is only so many hours in the day."

"That, I understand," the old man says with a dry, elderly laugh. "You come to discuss something of great import. What is the matter?"

"I come to the learned fathers," he says, gesturing at the gathered older men around him, all over sixty years old and scholars. "I seek wisdom, and know that the Temple has much information and knowledge that I do not possess. It is known that for the last months I have grieved for the loss to my people, my wife, and to me personally, in that my unborn children were taken from me."

"We are regretful that we could not help," one of the elders to the right says with a tight frown and shake of his head. "The tech was in control, and we had little power to work. There was nothing we could do, though we felt sadness at the loss of your people and children."

"I have gone into Pegasus Way often, and rooted out the evil that hid there, as penance," he says, a simple explanation for his actions. "I have noted, that the Way is growing, faster these last months than in the years before. I have also noted that the creatures and events spurned from magic have increased as well, and seek the counsel of the Rabbis in this."

The elders look around at each other, and after a few moments, each of them nodding in turn, the oldest of them nods firmly himself and speaks.

"We have made the connections as well, and we have gathered the information, Khan," he says slowly, tilting his head back to look down at Richard. "The magic returns, we all know this. Many do not understand its workings, but we are students of history, as you well know, and we have seen the pattern. We will give you the knowledge and wisdom you seek in exchange for wisdom and knowledge you possess."

"What do the Elders request?" Richard asks carefully, looking around at the group suspiciously.

"Tell us how you were able to use magic when the magic had left the world, when you battled the tank," one of the younger of the elders says, a man in his sixties with black and gray in his beard.

Richard frowns hard, leaning back in the chair, thinking hard for a moment before answering.

"I want a guarantee that you have real information and wisdom on the spread, that it is value for value," Richard says, his eyes hard as he looks around at the Rabbis.

"The Khan is an honorable man," the eldest Rabbi says, looking around at the others. "He will honor his agreement."

"We have noted and researched, and stockpiled for longer than just when the shift occurred," the youngest elder says with a nod. "We have documents and tablets from the Babylonians and before, documenting the shift from Magic to Technology."

"There will be one more flare," the eldest says firmly, nodding. "Then magic will stay, for good, it will not leave again for millennia. Between now and then, the magic will spread, and grow stronger, the magic pools growing bigger to encompass entire cities and the ley lines drawing more power."

Richard chews on that mentally with a hard frown and furrowed brow.

"Tell us, how did you use magic in a tech wave," the eldest says simply, looking at Richard with a hard stare.

"I am a First," Richard says simply. "I have magic within me, given to me by, I don't know who or what, and I can push the magic of my blood, of my being, into objects, regardless of whether the magic rules, or if it wanes."

He pauses, leaning forward and looking around at the Rabbis, "You may not believe me, but the magic comes and goes like the tides in the ocean, we know that. But almost everyone believes that when it recedes, it is like standing on the dry shore, and it is gone entirely. I am telling you it is not, that the magic is always here, it is like standing in the shallows, water to your ankles, hard to reach, small, but not gone."

The Rabbis look around at each other, their faces frowning and nearly indiscernible beneath their scowls.

"The proof is the Way," he continues in the pause, gesturing at the wall and the magic beyond. "And the ley lines. Magic was always here. The elders that awoke, Roland and the others that have old and new names, they survived because of the trickle of magic that always remained. The power within us we use during magic waves can be used in tech waves, but it is just harder and not as potent. Only the strongest and most disciplined can do it, but it can be done."

"The tech wave has the world," one of the other elders says, his face heavily wrinkled with age. "Show us."

Richard purses his lips as Josef walks towards him with the enchanted gladius he had left at the front desk. He rises and takes the sword in hand and walks slowly and carefully before the senior Rabbi, holding the blade before him, parallel to the ground. He holds it steady a few feet from the old man as he pushes his magic into the blade and it glows cherry red, flames dancing off of the blade an inch long. He holds the flames and then cuts his connection, and the flames disappear, the steel quickly cooling to a normal tone.

"This changes things," one of the younger Rabbis says with a frown and shake of his head.

"Nothing has changed," Richard says, lowering the sword to his side and looking around at the elders. "Only what we know, the reality is the same. I would ask to look at some documentation here, I wish to conduct some research on the Druids and the Atlanta Pack."

"You are welcome to our Repository, Khan," the eldest Rabbi says with a deep nod to him. "You have given us much to discuss, and we understand that you are a man of planned action."

"Oh. My. Goddess," Autumn says, looking at the long rows and stacks of books and scrolls arrayed beyond them as they enter the Repository in the Temple.

"You like?" Richard asks with a smile, watching his sister geek out at the large library. "I have research to do, and actually need your language skills. I can probably bring you back for a fun visit later."

"Two things I'm annoyed with you about, a little," Autumn says, turning from the shelves to him with a frown and lowered brows. "One, you did not tell me we were researching the Druids, hence your need for my actual expertise, which is number two. I didn't think I was coming here to work."

"You oversold yourself, sis," Richard says with a laugh as they follow the young student into the library. "After hearing your language capabilities and what not, I can't _not_ take advantage of it. Besides, we're helping each other out here, you know that."

She scowls at him, though it is only surface deep, "Be thankful you're my brother."

"I am," he says with a shake of his head and a smile. "David, take her to the files on the Druids near Boston. I'll have Becca take me to the Atlanta Pack files."

"Yes, Khan," the teenage student says with a nod and smile at the sibling byplay, another youngster walking with him to take Richard to the files he wants to look at.

Richard looks up from his notes, having been reading reports for six hours now, Autumn walking up to him with a notebook under her arm. He rubs his eyes, pushing his tired mind away as she walks up.

"What's up?" he asks, pushing his notes aside.

"I've got a lot of info on the Druids," she says with a frown. "I am really surprised that the Temple has so much information and so many recent reports."

"It's one of the reasons I pushed to get a good relationship with them," he says in a muted tone, their escorts twenty yards away. "There is a lot of information in the public domain. If you can access it and correlate it, you can figure out a lot more than without, and the Temples do that really well. What did you find out?"

"Those Druids that came to my shop have a history of illicit activities," she says with a moue of distaste, pulling out copies of police reports. "They are pushing for their group to be given rights similar to the Native Americans and Shapeshifter Packs, a nation within a nation."

"Are they getting traction with the local government?" he asks, knowing that is the start of getting the foothold.

"Locally, yes, and even with the state," she says with a nod, looking at her notes and he recognizes the codes for Federal laws. "But federally they've been blocked. The locals are bleeding hearts that are giving the rights away, and it's getting hard for some of them, though they think it's the price for an equal inequality."

She says the last with an angry sigh, leaning back in the chair she had sat in across from him. She rubs the bridge of her nose to calm down as she speaks again.

"These are my neighbors, and they are retarded," she says with a sigh. "I understand equality and opportunity, but these people are just being stupid."

Richard smirks, "One of the good things about the Shift, is that the Second Amendment was never questioned again. Not with magic, angry spiders possibly manifesting every twelve hours or so."

Autumn laughs at that, "Thank you, I needed that."

"So what about the main characters of their crew? How big, and how powerful?" he asks, still smiling, though talking business.

"They have pushed out the German heritage folks, according to the records," Autumn says, looking at her notes. "All that's left in the immediate Boston area are the English and Welsh witches and Druids. They pushed out the Warlocks and male influences."

"Leaders?" he asks, leaning back as he sifts through the information.

"Four of them," she says frowning and looking back at him. "No police or official reports. They do shapeshift, to animal forms, not enlarged like those with LycV, but faster and without control issues. No reports on what they shift into."

"Do they heal fast?" he asks, his eyes looking into the distance.

"Unknown," she says with a moue as she looks at him, unfamiliar with his mannerisms in this regard. "They have healed quickly during magic waves, but no data on tech waves."

"So, they either are smart enough to only do dangerous stuff during magic, or they always heal quick and it isn't documented," he muses aloud.

"They also run a number of illegal activities in the area, chief among them an Underground Fighting Club, which is bordering on legality, according the police reports," she muses, looking at her notes.

"That will be my in, then," he says with a nod. "We'll work out the plan along the way."

"I still don't like it," Autumn says. "Why do we have to go back?"

"My people know you are here, and I take care of my family," he says with a sigh. "I know someone chased you off and destroyed your livelihood. I _want_ to punish them for that," he says, counting off one finger. "I want to send a message to the Horde and Houston that there is _nowhere_ to hide from me," a second finger joins the first. "And I'll be able to do some business along the way, both for my company Hoffman Resources, and for the Horde," he says with a third finger.

"Pragmatic," Autumn agrees with a sigh and a frown. "But logical, which pisses me off."

"Don't be mad, sis," he says with a tight smile. "I'm explaining it all, I don't always do that with my people."

"Thank you, for that," she says with a sigh and small nod. "What were you reading?"

"Confirming my intel on the Atlanta Pack and doing some area groundwork on where Chrissy is at, which is the real reason I'm doing the footwork instead of delegating," he says, looking at the papers spread out in front of him. "The Temples communicate constantly, so whatever the Atlanta Temple knows, they know here."

"Anything new?" she asks, looking at the photos in front of him that look like the aftermath of a bloody battle.

"A demi-god from Babylonian myth recently went through Atlanta," he says with a frown, leaning back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing his head. "Reports confirm only that the Pack and the People worked together to stop her, with aid from a couple of Mercs, after the Knights of Merciful Aid failed spectacularly, getting many civilians killed before the shapeshifters intervened."

"That sounds vague," she says with a frown. "Is that all?"

"The Temple had been attacked a couple days prior, damaging their records and their ability to gather information," he says with a sigh. "They can confirm that a master swordsman was involved, helping the shapeshifters."

"Anything else?" Autumn asks, pushing the photos away to conceal most of the gruesome parts. "About the Atlanta Pack."

"Curran, their Beast Lord, has finally settled down and mated," he says with a frown. "To a no name Merc that no one really knows, and a human at that."

"That's uncommon, isn't it?" she asks.

"Very," he agrees. "The chance of infecting a human partner is very high, and can lead to loupism. It happens, but not often."

Autumn nods, and after a moment, speaks with her eyes on the table, "I like Tasha, you two are good for each other. And the others in the Horde, they are decent people."

"Thank you," Richard says, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What are you holding back?"

"You do realize that most of the girls in Tasha's Pride have a crush on you, right?" Autumn asks, glancing at him with a frown.

"Wait, what?" Richard says, blinking and leaning back. "Are you serious? We work together, that's all."

"No, I'm very serious," she says with a lopsided smile at her younger brother. "You're good looking, in great shape, confident, you're taking charge, and doing it well. Plus you're smart and care about your people. Mischa has it hard for you, I think, and the others do, too, from what I've seen."

Richard leans forward with his hands covering his face, "You've got to be kidding me. I don't need this right now."

"What?" Autumn asks with a twist of her head. "It's a little drama, that's all."

"It can be more so, in the shapeshifter community, way more," he says with a sigh, rubbing his face, then looking at her. "If I bring it up to Tasha, it can cause a rift between her Pride, and they are the backbone of our social network side. They have kept her strong when we were having marital problems."

"None of them came on to you while you were… estranged?" Autumn asks gently.

"No," he says, with a hard frown. "I buried myself in work, hard. I barely made time for appointments, much less social activities. I rarely saw her Pride members."

"Not surprised," Autumn says with a shake of her head. "You do probably need to talk to her about it, especially if you plan to take Mischa with you on this trip."

"Shit," he says with feeling, his mind running down the paths before him.

Richard ascends the steps to the barn, pausing at the top with a bottle of wine and two glasses. Tasha is lounging on the platform, a platter of meat in front of her as she reads a book, alone. He smiles, recognizing the title, _The Once and Future King_ , and sits down next to her without prompting and pouring them wine.

"What is the occasion?" she asks, placing a bookmark on her page and putting the book down.

He sighs, "I could lie and say no reason, but unfortunately, there is."

She frowns at his wording, accepting the glass and sitting up, them alone on the roof and no one in hearing distance.

"Okay, so spill," she says, swirling the wine but not drinking.

"It has been brought to my attention that some members of your Pride may have a crush on me," he says with a frown, not looking at her. "I don't see it, but Autumn brought it up, and I wanted to air it out, see what you thought."

Tasha narrows her eyes in thought, not looking at him, but past him at the horizon as she slowly takes a sip of the dry wine. After a few long breaths she frowns as well with a small shake of her head.

"Now that you bring it up, I can see the possibilities," she says with a moue. "Most though, I think is simple admiration, but…"

She scowls and sighs as the realization hits her, "Mischa."

"That's what I'm told," Richard says with a nod. "But she's gay, so she's off my radar."

"Not mine," she says with a frown, thinking. "She and I dated for a while, and broke up not long before you came along. You could say you were my rebound."

"A rebound that scored two points," Richard says with a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood.

"I would argue three," she says with a smirk of her own, but sighing and returning to serious. "What are you thinking?"

"I can pull her off the detail to accompany us on the mission," he says, looking to her. "But I'm not the expert on the politics and social side, as you are. What do you think?"

"No one but me knows," Tasha says firmly. "She's my best friend, and no one else knows. I am confident she won't make a move on you, and even if she did, I trust you to rebuff it."

"Is that enough?" Richard asks, not sure if there's a loaded gun somewhere in the scenario.

"In part," Tasha says with a sigh, putting her glass down as she gains a pensive expression. "There is something else that you don't know, but you need to."

"What is it?" he asks, setting his own glass own, shifting to hold her hands, shifting closer until he is nearly embracing her.

"The injuries I sustained that night, there was shrapnel that damaged my uterus," she says in a strained voice. "My tubes were damaged, and though they've healed and reformed…"

She takes a deep breath, looking down, then back at Richard with tears in her eyes, and he knows without her saying anything.

"You can't have children anymore," he says with a worried expression, pulling her close and kissing her head as he fights his own tears and anger, knowing his eyes are flashing orange with emotion.

"I'm sorry," she sobs into his chest, him kneeling and holding her tightly.

"Don't be," he says in a near rumble. "The mother _fuckers_ that are responsible will beg me for mercy and forgiveness for _days_ as I bring them my judgment."

Tasha blinks in surprise at the anger and violence held in his voice, a part of her recoiling at the fierceness of it. She is surprised sometimes when his anger leaks out, and though part of her is scared by it, the lioness within her is proud and agrees with him. She pulls back and kisses him tenderly on the jaw, putting her head next to his as she gives him a full hug. A minute passes before they ease their grasp on each other, and they look at each other's faces, Richard's slowly easing from his near rage.

"Will you be okay?" she asks. "You're not going to leave me?"

"I swore I wouldn't," he says, tilting his head down and shaking it slowly. "I think I will need to spend a night in the Way to work off the anger to tolerable levels, but I am _not_ leaving you again. I promised."

Tasha takes a shaky breath on a tight throat, "If I can't, then…"

Richard closes his eyes, "That is some time off, I think. I understand, but I will not leave you."

He opens his eyes again and stares into her blue eyes, captivating him and piercing to his soul, as always.

"You are my mate and my wife," he says solidly. "You will _never_ be anything less. I swear it."

Tasha takes a deep breath, looking deep into his hazel eyes in return, then kisses him deeply.

Tasha sits in the kitchen of the house, sipping tea as Mischa comes in from the back door. Richard is off coordinating for him to leave with the other representatives of the Horde and the Viking security attachment, and she had asked to have the house to just her and Mischa. Mischa smiles and sits with her, accepting tea from Tasha and nibbling on some chocolate chip cookies she'd made before Mischa had arrived.

"I assume you wanted to talk about the topics to bring before the Atlanta Pack in regards to our social agenda?" Mischa says with a smile to her friend.

"Eventually, yes, but I think we need to talk about someone else, first," Tasha says with a sigh, leaning back and looking at her best friend as an Alpha, not a friend.

"Autumn, Richard's sister," Mischa says with a nod, guessing wrong. "I like her, and I think she's genuinely invested in Richard, and she cares about him. I think we can trust her."

"I do too, but that's not what I meant," Tasha replies with a nod, looking at Mischa firmly. "I think you have feelings for Richard. More than just respect."

Mishca pauses with a cookie half chewed in her mouth, shocked. She forces the cookie down and places the half cookie on the small plate in front of her with a shake of her head.

"Tasha, I am not into guys, you know that," she says, still shaking her head.

"I don't blame you," Tasha says with a quirk of her lips. "I think it snuck up on you, as it did me. He's strong, confident, not bad looking, and he's a good man."

"I'm not interested in him," Mischa denies, shaking her head again.

"Don't deny me," Tasha says, her voice firm and her eyes flashing gold for a moment in her own alpha glare. "I was doubtful, but I scented the pheromones, faint, but there, this morning when we visited him during his training."

Mischa ducks her head, her mind swimming for a moment, and a second of panic hits her that Tasha senses. Tasha reaches over and gently takes her friend's hand, pulling her gaze to her softened features.

"I said I don't blame you," Tasha says simply, a friend back in place. "I understand. And in time, I may need it."

Mischa looks confused, unknowing, and Tasha continues.

"I was badly injured in the attack, and can't have children anymore," she says with a tight frown, holding her friend's hand firmly now. "If Richard and I decide to try and start a family down the road, we will need a surrogate. You are the closest family I have, and I trust you."

Mischa is gripping her hand tightly, her face nearly as tight, "I don't know."

"We are not there, yet," Tasha says with a softening smile. "But I want you to think on it. And know thyself, my friend. We have time to figure it out."

Mischa sighs and pulls her hand away, placing her face awkwardly in her hands with a sigh, "Damn it, Tash. I don't _like_ guys."

Her tone is more frustrated than angry or arguing, though, as though realizing this for the first time, if not yet accepting.

Richard is sitting in his office at Hoffman's having just finished a meeting in the conference room, going over the logistics of the group he'll be leaving with. Autumn had attended, but had not said much, mostly listening and on the few occasions when asked a question, deferring to Richard's judgment. Now she sits across from him as the door is closed and he pulls a pair of short steel cups and a bottle of bourbon from his desk drawer.

"I keep this for rough days," he says, holding up the bottle of twelve year Elijah Craig. "Today counts, I think."

"You talked to Tasha?" Autumn asks, frowning at the offered cup, but accepting.

"You were right, she's going to talk to her," Richard says, then taking a sip before continuing. "And it reminded me to ask you something. Is there anyone in the area we need to pull out? To bring back with us after we pull out of the area?"

Autumn blinks in surprise, then shakes her head, "I don't have anyone close enough in that town to count as more than a friend or business acquaintance."

"You did mention a friend in New York City you stayed with," Richard says, proving he was listening to the brief comment a few days ago. "Is she safe, or in danger when I go take care of the Boston issue?"

"I don't think so," Autumn says with a shake of her head. "Trisha was a friend in the town I was in, moved to the big city to make it big a few years ago. She was the only one I could think of that I could call quickly for help."

"How is she doing?" Richard asks, noting that the woman had taken his sister in when she needed it most, not a gesture he will forget. "Did she make it big?"

"Hasn't had a single audition go her way," Autumn says with a shake of her head. "Bad luck all around for her so far. She gave me the last of her savings to get here, just said to send money back when we could."

"We'll do more than that, I think," Richard says with a shake of his head. "She'll get it back and interest."

"Richard—," she starts angrily, but he cuts her off with more force than he has so far.

"Listen, Autumn, this is not a little country town with two streets of businesses, a lot of wide open country and only a few thousand people in the county," he says firmly, to which she jerks. "I know you're still getting used to the idea that I'm in charge and how I do things, but one of the reasons I've done so well is because I look at _all_ the problems and possible issues, and I tie up loose ends, as well as look to the future."

She blinks as he pauses, his face firm in what she has recognized as his alpha gaze, and it softens after a moment as he continues.

"You need to come to grips that I'm am much more than the simple soldier you knew years ago and very far from the bare teenager that got rid of dad," he says, trying to soften his words, but she clenches her jaw in anger. "I'm in charge of nearly a thousand people and work the politics of most of a state populated in the millions of people, as well as a company that manages millions of dollars in assets over an area that covers a third of Texas. Not to mention being the third largest shapeshifter group in the country, and coming close to Ice Fury in Alaska."

She frowns at him, "I am not one of your subjects, Richard."

She spits the last word, and he takes a breath, pushing his frustration down before speaking, "I am trying to be understanding and patient. Please work with me here."

She takes a breath herself, recognizing she is angry, looking away and taking a sip of the burning alcohol before speaking.

"I dislike not being in control," she says with a hard frown.

"I understand," he says in a softer tone. "But do you disagree with what I am doing? Is your only objection that you can't take care of this without my help?"

She grits her teeth and takes another sip to give herself another moment to cool down, "I agree that Trisha deserves to be compensated. She's a good girl doing what she can, and she didn't have to help me, but she did."

"Don't be mad because I'm doing it," he says softly, reaching his hand out on the desk.

"I can't wait for this to be over," she says with a sigh, reaching over and squeezing his hand quickly before pulling back and downing the last of the burning liquid. "To run a shop and just work. I hate this politic stuff."

Richard snorts, "I'm not exactly a fan myself. If it wasn't for taking normal Merc contracts, I'd go crazy with it. But it is my life, and my responsibility. I won't walk away from it, it's too late for that."

Autumn tilts her head to the side, "When was it too late? When was the time that you could have?"

Richard smiles as he leans back, the memory clear in his head, "It was my first Pack meeting. I had watched the Cat Clan alpha bullying another member, and I couldn't stand by and do nothing. I ended up beating up him, two of his kids and removing the hand of one of them. I was shot by their mother, a lady in her sixties, with a small shotgun shelled revolver, it had silver buckshot in it."

"You were hurt, and that is why you stayed, to fix it?" she asks, it sounding relatively believable.

"In part, but I didn't care about these people then," he says with a wave at the window. "But while I was healing, and they were taking out the silver, that was when I first really met Tasha. I caught her eyes, and…"

"Love at first sight?" Autumn says with a warm smile as her brother looks down abashedly at his cup.

"She kept me grounded through the pain, and in numerous occasions since," he says with a shrug, shaking his head. "I can't imagine my life without her. She is my soulmate."

Autumn takes a deep breath, "I'm sorry I got mad. I'm not used to working with large groups or in an organization. I'm used to it being just me."

"I know, it's why I'm trying to help you through it, and being as patient as I can," he says with a smile. He takes a deep breath before continuing, "We'll hit Boston first, I want to get there through upstate New York, near the lakes, then we'll stop in New York City after, and talk with your friend, Trisha."

"It's a good plan," she agrees, nodding. "I don't like you posing as a pit fighter to infiltrate the Druids' operations, though."

"I'd rather dismantle them from the inside," he says with a shrug, "and I'm our best chance at it. I have a lot of abilities no one else has."

"So I saw," he says, taking a breath and looking at him hard now. "You can use magic when the tech is up?"

He sighs, pouring himself more whiskey, gesturing to see if she wants any, but she shakes her head, her metabolism nowhere near as fast as his.

"I can only use the weapons, fire or ice if it's been enchanted," he says with a frown. "Normal weapons with no inherent magic I can do nothing."

"Healing?" she asks, eyebrow quirked.

"I'm not good at it, in the least," he frowns. "I'm still learning the basic inherent chants, and don't practice often, I focus more on the martial forms."

She pauses before asking, studying him intensely, "Do you have power words?"

"I know of them," he says. "But I don't know any of them. I don't own any."

She looks at him carefully for a moment before asking softly, "Would you want one?"

He returns her careful look with one of his own, "You have a power word?"

"Three, actually," she says quietly out of habit, though the room is soundproof.

"I have no idea if I am capable of holding on and owning one, to be honest, much less three," he says with a shake of his head, then taking a sip of his bourbon to give himself a moment to think before continuing. "What do you think?"

"Your aura is a bonfire," she says with rueful smile. "I am a campfire at best, so I think you could handle it, though it would hurt like nothing you've ever felt before. Your body will feel like it is burning and freezing and trying to drain of magic while raging greater than a hurricane while you try to master the word."

Richard chuckles, "Let me tell you the story of the Flare, and how the Black Vohls tried to bring Chernobog into the world."

"Are you ready to go?" Tasha asks as Richard walks into the front door of their house, cooking stew in the kitchen.

"Nearly," he says as he walks in, accepting a beer from her after a lingering kiss. "Autumn is willing to teach me magic, and how to use a Power Word."

Tasha's movements slow at the stove as she ponders that, Richard going to the cupboard to pull out dishes and set the table.

"She'll feel better at contributing, to repaying you for what you're doing to help her, to sort things out," Tasha says thoughtfully. "My sources say Bridgette has two power words. Kneel and Obey."

"Autumn has three, though she wouldn't say what they were, not yet," he says, setting out the dishes. "We'll do some training first, then we will talk about more."

"She is cautious," Tasha says with a smirk. "It must run in the family."

"It most definitely does," he agrees with a smile, opening a drawer and pulling out forks and spoons.

Richard sits in the old pickup truck in the small convoy of four vehicles in front of the Bastion, all three running on hybrid magic/tech engines. They are recent purchases, used, as he is unsure if they will survive the trip, especially the Boston portion. He'd had a lingering good bye with Tasha before leaving, and he rides in the back of the crew cab truck with Autumn, two of the security driving. They will travel to a ley line and use them to go north, then cut east, using the ley lines for most of the journey until they are about to leave New York, at which point they will break into two man teams and infiltrate Boston separately, except Domasca and a few others, to have a safe haven to run to.

He pulls out a book Autumn is having him read as a requisite for her magic tutorage, and begins to learn more about the Celtic Pantheon and a goddess named Brigid.

The old hockey rink in Boston is surrounded by parking lots, some crumbling concrete and asphalt as the magic eats at it, but most of it is gravel and dirt. The arena isn't big, only a single set of bleachers that surround it on the straights, not the curves, and the lots made by clearing older buildings from it. A short figure in a ratty brown cloak approaches the old arena, quite a few vehicles and animals tied up outside, and the sounds of a crowd inside. He wears old, worn cargo pants in olive drab and a stained gray t-shirt in the warm evening air.

The bouncers at the front door raise their hands, and he pulls back the hood of his cloak, revealing finger long brown hair, a rough goatee on his tanned face.

"I hear you guys have fights," the man says in a rasp, sounding like his voice has been damaged. "I want to fight."

"Round back," the bouncer on the right says, his face tightening at the stench of the man, who nods and follows the directions.

Autumn frowns as she stands next to the young man next to her in the crowd inside the arena. The youth, not even twenty yet, had been introduced to her as Jark Ragnarson, a tall, muscular Neo-Viking who Richard hired as security for their travels. She had been extremely skeptical of his ability to protect her until she had watched him and his slightly younger brother who is slightly less muscular, practice one morning. The two had struck at each other with wooden swords and axes, not holding back, and then wrestled and fought until the elder was choked into unconsciousness.

Richard said they traveled to South America for him some time ago, and that he trusts them. She doesn't know if she trusts him, but watching him fight and practice with his bow, she knows he's capable in a fight. Even if he makes her feel like an old maid beside his youthful face.

She watches as the next bout is announced, she pretending to be Jark's girl as he plays a loudmouthed youth trying to impress his older girlfriend at the fight. He cheers with the rest of the crowd loudly, his beer spilling from the large tankard he holds high as two contenders enter the center caged off area inside the old rink. Autumn claps, but is really watching the shorter of the two men enter the fight ring that is twenty yards across and an octagon. The taller pale skinned man is shaved bald, just over six feet and heavy, stocky muscular with a bare chest and sweatpants on. The shorter is just over five and a half feet, moderate build but with not an ounce of fat on him, finger length brown hair and a rough goatee.

Telling to her and Jark, though, are the faded black scars on his body, a dead giveaway to them that this is Richard. She is nervous, though she intellectually knows the taller and bigger were-wolf is no match for him, and he is introduced as a nomadic were-lion. The were-wolf, Jimmy, immediately shifts form to a warrior hybrid, but Richard simply shifts his stance with his hands in front of him in a Kung Fu stance. The were-wolf attacks and Richard evades, ducking and circling around the inhumanly fast lycanthrope.

Autumn is uncertain if this is a tactic or for real, as the werewolf's claws open Richard's side and blood arcs into the crowd right next to the ring. He continues to duck and move away, though he manages a right hook that connects to the werewolf's nose, which causes it to stumble back, tears filling its eyes. Richard seems to hesitate, surprised at the results, then leaps forward and lands on the larger figure's shoulders. He wraps his legs around the monster's neck and shoulder, locking his ankles and then pommelling the werewolf's head with double fisted hammer strikes.

His enhanced strength does not allow his opponent to last long, his second strike caving in the monster's head. Though he dispatched him quickly, the werewolf still carved up his left thigh badly, and he is unable to stand as he rolls away from the corpse which shifts to human form. Richard looks tired and weak as he stands on one leg, looking at the crowd as one of the owners walks out and lifts his hand high in victory.

Autumn recognizes him, the man that had burned down her shop, the one that she'd cursed. Red hair six inches long pulled back to the back of his head, and heavy leather trench coat with old runes on it, and pouches on his belt for magic. He is holding Richard's hand high as he looks around at the spectators, a smile on his face as he congratulates the victor. Richard stumps out of the ring as the next bout is introduced, and she glances at Jark, a spark of concern in her eyes. The younger man leans down and whispers in her ear, barely discernable over the noise.

"I have seen him survive far worse wounds, and he was pulling his punches and abilities, severely, I swear," he says, giving her a squeeze on her shoulder to reassure her, then a peck on the cheek for the sake of the other patrons around them, who are mostly watching the ring or exchanging bets.

Her mood is pensive, though, as she tries to blend in and Jark cashes his own bet that had been on Richard. She is not comfortable in the setting, and is eager for this part of their journey to be over.

Richard sits heavily on the old park bench in the park, having left the old rink with the promise of being included in tomorrow's fights, the Saturday Night Specials. He bends over, stretching, and his fingers brushing against the bottom of the bench, retrieving the note taped there. He pulls it into his sleeve, then his pocket as he lays down on the bench, an old army poncho pulled over him as he plays the part of a drifter.

Autumn sits anxiously in the ratty hotel room, nearly jumping as the lock turns to the open position and Jark walks in. She fights not to ask, simply twisting her head in the gesture of a question.

"He left a return note," he says, handing a small piece of paper to her.

 _Saturday Night Specials will be their last night, have all the teams in the crowd to support_ , it says simply.

"Is he serious?" she asks with an angry frown. "That's all their security, and two of the leaders. Owen, the red head, is their big gun, too."

"He is very serious," Jark says with a slight accent. "I have already dropped notes to the others. We will be ready."

"You may be good with a sword and bow, Jark," she says with a shake of her head. "But if the tech is up, they will have guns, and if not, magic."

"You will take care of magic, if needed," he says with a shrug. "If they have guns, I will take them from them and use them."

"Vikings don't use guns," she says with a shake of her head.

"Other Vikings don't," he corrects, shaking his own head. "Father has his people walk a different path. I am a better shot with gun than bow, and walk the road of war."

"Richard will still be in the middle of it," she says with a shake of her head.

Jark chuckles darkly as he sits on the other bed, lying down laughing, "I have no pity for these men, for they will be fearful when the Khan vents his rage on them for threatening his family. Trust me in this."

Autumn looks at him dubiously, but doesn't argue, sleep tugging at her.

Richard strides into the arena in the center of the rink, and he pauses as he looks around at the crowd. He can pick out a dozen of his people mixed in the crowd, and he smiles internally, though his outward expression is unchanged. He has been announced, and he pauses at the announcement of his opponent, a were-mongoose, having not fought one since the day he had been infected. He knows they are faster than the foxes, who are only marginally faster than him, and he knows that this will be a challenge.

The man enters across from him, looking to be of Thai descent, thin and muscular with no fat on his frame. His stubble on his head is black, and he weighs only a hundred forty pounds max, but he holds a short knife menacingly to his side. Richard holds one as well, and he circles around slowly and deliberately as they size each other up. The other man strikes first, weaving his way across to him in a flash, but instead of weaving away and ducking, Richard meets the attack with one of his own.

The man is lightning quick, and barely ducks the knife's edge that passes within an inch of his throat. Richard's left hand has struck the man's side, though, just below the ribs, the man having to choose which blow to accept, and fearing the knife more than the hand. It was a poor choice, as Richard's fingers flash into talons a moment before contact, and dig bloody rents in the man's side. The man stumbles to the side, the intense pain more than he had expected, and Richard follows through, continuing the press of attacks.

The man is fast, but the early injury had shocked him and Richard's attack style had changed from basic Kung Fu and boxing into a more advanced Tiger style with Judo mixed in. Richard strikes and grapples, tearing flesh from the bone, and the man is bleeding in the ring after only a few extended moments. The crowd around the ring goes silent at the savagery and violence of the fight, not entirely understanding what had happened.

The gate opens to the ring, and Owen walks in hesitantly, and Richard faces off with him, over ten yards distant in the ring, the magic wave gripping the world and him. Owen turns his head at him, pausing before approaching, and Richard drops the knife, shifting his form into his hybrid warrior form. He grows almost instantly into a mix of man and tiger, a touch over seven feet tall as he looms before the middle aged Druid.

"I am Richard Michaels," he says in a firm voice that carries, standing menacingly across from Owen, who is frozen in place. "You threatened my family, and destroyed her business. Pay me recompense or I will end this, and you."

He gestures around him with the last, his clawed hands wide, exposing the stripes of brown fur across his heavily muscled, brown chest and back.

"W-who?" Owen says, confused, though an older man, and one of the leaders beside him, is pale as he leans forward and whispers in the leader's ear.

Owen blinks and does a double take on Richard before speaking, puffing his chest out, "You are in our territory, tiger. We do not answer to you."

"The Chinese were in their own lands, but still feared the Khan," he growls, looking around the rink. "You would be wise to do likewise."

Owen laughs, though it is forced, "You are one, we are many."

"I am not alone," Richard disagrees, and a serious of roars ring out, his people shifting shapes in the crowd, going after security and he doesn't wait, lunging forward.

Owen isn't distracted, though, and neither is the man with him, both of whom shift to the form of grizzly bears in a flash of green magic. Richard has not continued his charge, though, having danced to the side in a practiced dodge as Owen snaps his massive jaws at him. Richard slashes across at the exposed ribs, and then dodges away from the other bear's massive paw. He continues to dodge and leap over the equally large and heavier opponents, inflicting gashes as the opportunity arises, but nothing deep or fatal.

He notes they are healing, and this close he can feel that they use magic to do so. He continues in his tactic, knowing that though the cuts will mend, the loss of blood will eventually tell, more so than it would with a true shapeshifter with LycV in their blood. He lands a hard kick on one of the bear's legs, shattering the femur as it attacked slower than before. The attack leaves him open, however, and the other bear dashes in at him. He leaps high and flips, landing on the bear's back and shoving his palm hard into the base of the neck, shattering vertebrae.

He rides the dead bear to the ground, who shifts into a human after a moment, and he surveys the area. His people are alone, watching the arena, two of them sporting gashes on chest and arms, another with a bent leg, but all alive.

Richard reins in his horse in as he crests a rise in the road, coming into view of New York City. The old city had crumbled into a shattered wasteland of crumbling buildings and tunnels all along Long Island when the magic returned to the world. The skyscrapers, the tightly packed residential areas, and the apartments, the city had sustained the highest casualty rate and percentage of any city in America. Only Los Angeles had rivaled the death and destruction, and only because it covered more ground than NYC.

But the state of New York and the people of the United States refused to give up because of magic. Washington D.C. had been hit lighter than other cities, due to most of the buildings being older and shorter, and they lent help to reconstruct the former jewel of the US. So they had rebuilt, and Richard looks down at what has been achieved in the last thirty years.

Although the skyline will never be restored, they had started on the water's edge, on the continent and not the island, rebuilding inland from a re-established port. They had built around the Hudson, still a good river for trade into the northeast, and then as it grew they renamed the areas after the old NYC neighborhoods and districts. The Mayor and Governor had pulled the overall concept of the way it would build out, it had been deliberate and haphazard, and it is now a sprawling metropolis, with only a few buildings higher than four stories, and nearly ten million people crowded in.

After staring at the streetlights and scenting the concentrated humans, magic users and shapeshifters (there were seven Packs in the city alone), he looks beyond it to the water and what was once Long Island. The magic had claimed the island as it had Pegasus Way and Unicorn Lane, holding it in its grasp regardless of whether magic or tech ruled the world. An entire island choked with magic, and in the nighttime it glows with a blue haze in the dark.

Richard has seen the pictures, and been there once, and knows that where skyscrapers and the corpses of millions lie, there is now a double canopy jungle of vines and vegetation, though the temperature matches that of the temperate area of New York. The monsters and magic creatures there are the fiercest on the continent, and he is told there is a dragon living there. He only nods as the memories surface, and he leads the procession of his people and guards down the road to an Inn not far from town to use as a base of operations.

A few hours later he is in a restaurant a few blocks from their lodging in a private room he paid cash for, and is discussing plans in vague terms with his people over dinner. The magic is up, and Autumn had placed a light ward of protection up to keep sound in, and cut off listening devices or items. So she, Richard, Mischa and Thomas Domasca sit around eating with Daniel Torres, and enjoying the good Italian food. They are nearly finished when the door opens, but instead of the waitress or host, three men enter, two in suits, the third in a police uniform.

Richard and the rest lean back in their chairs, prepared to react, but staying calm, as their Neo-Viking guards are outside, and wouldn't have let them pass without being frisked for weapons. Richard does note the simple police baton at the uniformed police officer's side, and makes a note that the chubby old man had gotten it through. He will talk to the security that they will be docked for that.

"Richard Michaels?" the man in a blue three piece suit, white shirt and tie says to Domasca, his hair black, his features sharp and Italian, and his figure middling with a touch of padding on it.

Domasca raises an eyebrow in a characteristically haughty expression and looks down his nose at the man, though still seated. They had discussed how to handle this if the issue arose, so Domasca sits relaxed in his blue suit with light cream threads in it, the table between him and the men. Richard is to his side in jeans, black leather vest, weapons and t-shirt, his hair still long with a rough goatee. Autumn slowly resumes eating, though keeping her eyes and ears open, as does Torres and Mischa.

"Who are you? And why are you interrupting my dinner?" Domasca says with a frown at the man.

"I am Mayor Corleone," the man says, his jacket closed and hands clasped before him as he nods politely. "This is Mr. Heinrich, the President of the Black Company Mercenary Guild, and Commissioner Bullock, the head of the New York City Police Department."

Domasca's frown holds an edge of a sneer in it now, "You didn't answer my second question."

Richard is twirling spaghetti on his fork as he listens, his eyes on the plate, but unfocused and watching the mannerisms of the men in the room. His mind is already thinking of the possible reasons, and he is curious when they found out they had been in Boston, when they arrived here, and why they are coming this way. What do they want? He can list a few reasons, and eats as he waits and listens.

"I was informed you crossed the New York border yesterday, and had been in Boston, where you dealt with the Druid problem they had been dealing with," the Mayor says with a glance at the Mercenary.

The Merc had the intel connections and fed the Mayor, is what that gesture meant. So the Mayor was likely feeding him the better contracts and had favors with him. They are a larger group, and not invisible, but to know that info that quickly, and have feelers out took resources and connections. This is a big issue they are bringing to them, and without a SWAT team with them, from what he can see. He gives a hard look at Torres, making a gesture with his hand holding the fork, and the were-rat leaves after wiping his mouth to check the perimeter and their guards.

"We have a problem as well, and was wondering if you would be willing to act as a consultant in dealing with it," the Mayor continues without pausing, Richard's thoughts quick and the gesture subtle, Torres walking past the Mayor as he says this last.

"What problem?" Domasca asks, tilting his head as he picks up a glass of wine and swirling it before taking a drink.

"I'd like to invite you to my office, to speak behind protected doors," he says uneasily.

"The room is warded from sound, scrying, spells and regular recording devices," Richard says, rising from his meal, gesturing to Autumn with a fork. "She is a strong witch, and though the wards are not unbreakable, she does have sensitive sensing spells on the ward. If someone investigates or tries to bypass, we will know. That and the random anonymity of our location is the best protection you will get, Mayor. So speak, we have other business in town."

The Merc bristles at Richard's tone, but the Mayor simply looks at him in a calculated stare. Richard does not avert his gaze, his inch long brown goatee with heavy stubble up his cheeks meeting his now six inch long hair. The hair falls around his head, having been magically prompted to grow longer in support of the possible need to go undercover.

"Which one of you is Richard Michaels?" the Mayor says, looking now at all of the figures at the table, and glancing back at where Torres had gone.

Richard smirks, putting down his fork and knife, then pulling the hair tie from his wrist and pulling his hair back, exposing his face. He stands as he finishes, letting the Mayor and the others see him completely in the dim light. The Mayor nods slowly, obviously recognizing him now through the goatee, likely only having a description and no picture.

"Mr. Michaels, then?" the Mayor asks.

"I am Richard Michaels, Khan of the Houston Horde," Richard replies, his demeanor heavier, more dominant now. "I planned to be in town for only a couple days to handle a personal matter. I do not intend to get involved with local politics or issues."

"The contract for fulfillment is fifteen million for the primary," the Merc says from beside Corleone. "As a consultant, you'd get a sizable chunk. Enough to make helping us in the hunt worth your while."

Richard narrows his eyes at the man, then at the Mayor and Commissioner, and after only a moment asks, "There's a dragon on the island, isn't there?"

The mayor makes a frown, "Not exactly, but for laymen, it is close enough."

"How bad is it?" Richard asks, gesturing to empty chairs as he moves around the table to pull another chair from a nearby empty table, now facing the three officials with nothing between them.

"It is wingless, and we thought it an Earth Wyrm, as it burrows in the Island, and didn't tempt the wards we had facing the Island," the Commissioner says with an expression of distaste.

"It started attacking shipping from the Hudson two years ago, and it's gotten bigger," the mayor says with a heavy frown. "We can't get the magic users in town united enough to deal with it, and recently it broke the barrier ward facing the Island. The city is now open for an attack. It's been swimming up the Hudson regularly."

"Answer the question of size," Richard repeats, his eyes flashing orange, to which the humans pause, but don't jump.

"We are not sure, but we suspect it is now forty meters in height, with a body similar to a Cat shapeshifter warrior form, but with scales and a tough hide," the Commissioner says with a swallow.

Richard blinks slowly as he digests that, his mind almost locking up as he tries to picture something that size. After a few long breaths as he settles on the vision and scale of what they are talking about, then he frowns and looks at the Merc, Mr. Heinrich.

"What is your plan?" Richard asks, tilting his head at him in professional curiosity. "Enchanted ballista, with chains perhaps? Perhaps a magic user that can conjure them and pin the creature so you can finish it."

"We tried the magic user," he replies in a gruff voice, tinged with a German accent, matching his square, rough features and graying hair. "It has an immunity, the magic won't pierce, and anything less than strong steel won't pierce its hide."

"Why do you want me to consult?" he asks, leaning back and reaching to the side, Mischa handing him his wine glass without pause.

"It has come to our attention that you have conducted many raids within your own magic hazmat zone in Houston, the Pegasus Way," the mayor says with a nod meant to convey respect. "You are the most expert in dealing with magic hazmat of non-mythological origins."

After a pause of thought, he asks, "Does it stand on two legs or four more often, and how does it swim?"

"Two legs, always two legs," the Commissioner says with a nod. "And the reports we've got are not certain, but it seems to swim like a gator or crocodile."

"This _is_ a myth based creature," Richard says definitely.

"What myth?" the Mayor says with a frown and furrowed brow.

"This is Godzilla," Richard says with a snort, smiling as he takes a drink of wine. "Though fortunately only as large as our largest building. Forty meters would put it above almost every building in town. Has he breathed fire?"

"Blue fire," Heinrich says with a slow nod, his own memories shaken loose and recognizing an old movie he'd seen as a child.

"I will need a small team for support, mostly to restock in our magic arsenal when we are finished," Richard says into the pause. "I will be the primary and kill it."

The three men in front of him look at him in shock, and it's the mayor that speaks first.

"Did you not hear what we just said?" he asks, his arm waving to the east and the Island. "It is a hundred and sixty feet tall, has a giant prehensile tail with spikes and breathes fire!"

The last is in a near hysterical note, and Richard keeps his face in a cool, relaxed manner as he sips his wine again, then swirling it again absently.

"Do you want it gone? Yes or no?" he asks.

The mayor looks shocked and looks to Heinrich who scowls openly at Richard, who ignores him. After a few moments of the man's mouth opening and closing absently, it clicks shut and he nods slowly.

"Yes, we need it gone," he says into the silence, disbelief in his eyes.

"I'll need a small team to help me in the acquisition of a few items I'd like that would make the job easier," Richard says, turning a hard look at Heinrich. "Would you like to be that contract, or should I look at one of the other Merc Guilds in town?"

"We can handle it," Heinrich says with a near snarl.

"Good," Richard says, putting down his glass, clapping his hands and standing with a big smile on his face. "I'm going to send a few of my people with experience with contracts to the local Police Station, I'd really appreciate a guide to show them around, to keep issues from arising. I will be very grateful to the city and police force if they would do so."

It takes a moment for the subtle message he is sending to set in, that cooperation from the mayor and commissioner will result in financial compensation. As that sinks in, they both nod agreement and look at each other as they silently plot in their own heads.

"Thank you gentlemen, and I look forward to working with you," he says with a gesture to the door. "I have dinner to finish and work to do. Mr. Heinrich, if you would speak with my associate Mr. Torres who was in here when you arrived about your details, I would appreciate it."

The three men walk out with stunned and slightly puzzled expressions, and Richard waits until they are alone and the wards are soundly in place before turning back to the others.

"I don't know if we can kill something that big," Thomas says with a doubtful expression. "It can absorb a lot of damage without slowing or losing ability. What do you have in mind?"

"Only shapeshifters and magic users," he says, resuming his seat. "The shapeshifters are fast enough to avoid being crushed, and I'll need the magic users to help keep it distracted and in a localized area."

"But how do we kill something that big?" Autumn says, her hands expanding to encompass a large area.

"You don't, _we_ will," he says, spinning up a fork with pasta and meatballs. "And it will die, the same way anything else dies."

"We don't have a gun that big," Mischa says with a wry smile at him, shaking her head.

"Don't need a gun," he disagrees. "Wouldn't work with the magic, anyway. Everything that lives can be killed, and if it has a vertebrae, it can die like the others. Sever the spine then crush the skull. Pierce the heart or bleed it dry."

"The bone…" Thomas says, shaking his head as he wraps his head around trying to crush a skull that must be twelve feet long and bone six inches thick with scales over it.

"The spine is between the bone, and yes, armored by scales," he agrees. "I didn't say it would be easy, but it is not impossible."

"You are going to try and kill Godzilla, nesting in New York?" Autumn says with disbelief.

"Yes," he says with a smile, looking at her with a focused expression. "And don't look so shocked. You're going to help."

"Shit," she says with feeling, sitting back in her chair.

Richard stands on the docks of New York City, looking across the expanse of water separating him from the Island, the term for the former Long Island that is drenched in magic. He is in his warrior form, his articulated plate armor on his body, weapons strapped to him, and a heavy glaive in his hand instead of his usual spear. Beside him in less ornate armor, but in similar style, is Hyong Xiang, also in warrior form, but standing a half hand shorter and with silver-blue and black fur, his half form also less sleek and aesthetic.

"The ship is ready, khan," the Neo-Viking calls from the longboat tethered to the pier, the security pressed into service to man the ship and be their retrieval when they are done.

Richard turns from the view of the Island and boards the ship, the rest of the shapeshifters with him all in either human form or warrior form if they can hold it. They all wear armor like his in similar colors of dark red, muted gray and black, weapons on them as well. Their three magic users stand with the three human formed shapeshifters armed with bows, the last defense for the slower and more vulnerable humans. The boat shifts in the water, and the lines are cast away on the overcast and raining day, the Vikings setting off across the short passage, not deterred by the weather.

Richard stands in the bow of the ship, knees bent against the roll of the ship, and glances at where the Ragnarsons stand next to him, angry frowns on their faces.

"What's the matter?" he asks, his voice a growl in this form.

"We're guarding the ship," Jark says with a frown and a pout. "We deserve to go into battle with you, to help you slay the dragon."

"But then how will we get home?" Richard asks, tilting his head. "I could swim the channel, I have no doubt. The others would likely not, and definitely not my human sister."

He gestures back at the others in the boat, "Why do you think it is you here, and not Mercs from the area that would know the terrain better? I trust you to not only wait for me, but to kill any creatures that attack while I am gone. To hold the ship, and give us a way to leave quickly."

The half-brothers' faces change at the revelation of this perspective, and Richard continues, tapping Jark companionably on the shoulder, "There are sea serpents that run the channel as well. I will be busy with the dragon, I need you to keep the landing site safe, and be ready to take us home. Vikings such as yourself are ideal for that task, and you know that I trust you."

The two youths are now holding themselves high with pride, nodding agreement, and Floki speaks, he and his brother bowing low as he does.

"You honor us, Khan," he says, and Jark nods his assent.

"Just prove your worthiness to the task, and for admittance to Valhalla," he says with a rough chuckle. "And earn yourself a larger Death Guard while we are here."

The Ragnarsons stride off and start calling to the crew of the twenty yard long ship, new energy filling the warrior crew. He turns away and faces the rain and the nearly obscured shoreline ahead, his tiger eyes piercing the rain to find a place to go ashore. As they near, the men rowing as they are going into the wind, he calls over his shoulder in a roar.

"Two o'clock, one hundred meters, open beach!" he shouts, and the call is repeated as the man at the stern steering adjusts, and when they are pointing he calls again. "Stay this course, fifty meters!"

The rowing cadence slows, and Jark is beside him, calling the directions now, as his human eyes can pierce the sheets of rain coming down. The boat rams the sand and runs up six feet, grounded, and Richard hops over the rail onto the sand, the first on the Island. His nostrils flair as he tries to scent the area, but all he can smell is rain and rotted fish as Hyong lands beside him, and then Mischa in armor and a spear as well.

He stalks into the night, the hunting party of nearly a dozen shapeshifters in armor with strong magic users following him as he follows the memorized route to where the creature's den is located at.

Several hours later, and numerous fights with magical creatures that defy categorization in anyone's experience, even Richard's, they pause in their movement to rest. Richard has scented the creature, and according to the map, they are close to the former Madison Square Gardens, its nest. The plan is relatively simple, they ambush it as it comes back to the nest, the shapeshifters moving around on it as fleas on a dog, biting and irritating. The magic users use explosions and other distracting magic at its head to keep it off balance and inaccurate, unable to actually hurt something that size. He, Hyong and Mischa will scale the beast and attack the base of its neck or any target of opportunity on the spine, in an effort to cripple it.

Once crippled, they will then continue to disorient it, and move in to either pierce the brain through the eye or roof of its mouth, or sever a main artery to let it bleed out. He is reminded of hunting a rogue elephant in Iowa for the army with no backup, just him and two others with small caliber weapons and a spear. It is not the best way to kill it, but it was all they had, just like now. There's no bigger gun to use, he's it.

Richard watches as the massive shadow moves through the predawn light, still struggling to accept the scale of the monster he is here to kill. Details become clearer in the rising light as it moves, walking almost gracefully with its massive weight, not lumbering as in old movies. He is reminded of the first remake of Godzilla, an agile reptile that looks like a cross between a crocodile, Tyrannosaurus Rex and a man, bigger than a T-rex ever was.

He makes a signal with his left hand, indicating the plan has changed from attacking its back to going for the hamstrings or knee. The scales on its back are too thick, he'd need to spend minutes with his enchanted axe to get to the tissue beneath. The shapeshifters around him acknowledge the change of plan, and Richard rises from his hiding spot on a tree branch as the massive creature begins to walk past him, brushing another tree aside in the temperate rainforest. He coils and springs, glaive in hand, a design that has no crossguard, but shifts smoothly from blade to shaft.

His puts all his strength into the leap, and he thrusts in mid-air with the heavy, thick blade, holding it firmly while shoving it into the side of the monster's right knee. The blade, moving quickly and with over five hundred pounds behind it also moving fast, penetrates the thick hide and the blade disappears beneath the flesh. The shaft follows it, the armored were-tiger holding the near butt of the weapon driving his flying weight into it. Richard is not sure what happens next, as the creature has let out a roar that puts any other noise he had ever heard to shame, and twitches away.

The twitch of a creature that size is a huge movement to normal sized people, and the shaft shoved in its leg strikes Richard hard in his right arm, breaking it and cracking the ribs under it, despite the armor. Richard is flung haphazardly through the air and into a tree trunk, and he loses focus for a moment from the pain. He manages to keep consciousness, barely, and he blinks hard to clear the fuzziness in his vision. He shakes his head after only a few moments and looks around himself through the pain throbbing up his arm and side.

The massive, bipedal monster is on one knee, the shaft of the glaive broken off, and lashing out at the other shapeshifters that is circling it, picking at it like small wolves. Occasionally a spark or shadow flickers at its head, distracting it and causing its attacks on its tormentors to miss. Richard grunts as he pulls his arm straight and setting the bone before holding it to his side, and he knows that it will be semi functional in a few hours if untreated. He doesn't have the time, though, and he reaches into himself for the magic he possesses, and he works the basic healing chant that Autumn has taught him.

He feels the magic in him, stronger here on the magic drenched Island, as it wells up and into his chest, focusing there before he directs it with his left hand, touching his right arm. The warmth of a healing coats his arm at the same time that a tiredness settles over him, the magic coming at a cost. He pushes the faint exhaustion away as the arm finishes its healing, but he continues his chant, lying the hand on his ribs now, and doing the same. He blinks hard with a deep breath as he finishes the healing, his body whole now, but having felt like he just ran twenty miles after not sleeping for two days.

He shakes his head to clear it, telling his body to stop complaining and to do as it's told. He stands from the brush he had fallen into from being flung, and runs towards the giant monster as it manages to connect with one of his people, a werejackal. The shapeshifter practically explodes from the force of the strike, having been hit while leaping and the monster having redirected an attack at another. Richard roars as he charges the massive creature, who doesn't even acknowledge the sound as it rears its head and takes a deep breath.

He hears the spellcasters shout out and unite their spells, focusing and creating a short time ward to protect against fire. The shapeshifters have broken off and dashed into the protection as a jet of blue flame streams out of the monster's mouth at the magic users. The space they occupy is completely engulfed from the focused blast of the intense heat, scouring the ground to bare rock. Richard has not retreated to the ward, though, but had sprinted and ducked between the monster's legs.

He leaps up onto the perpendicular right leg, the wounded knee on the ground, his claws making a purchase on the hide as he lands. He has pulled his axe out and jumps across towards the inside of the left leg, ten feet of distance. He takes the axe in a two handed overhand grip as the monster's fiery breath ceases attacking his people, revealing a dome of untouched ground, shapeshifters and spellcasters. He chops down while leaping, the axe flaring with ice magic as it bites deep into the hide and flesh, only penetrating six inches, but deep enough.

Richard lands on the ground a moment before a waterfall of blood pours from the wound, a severed femoral artery. He roars for retreat, wanting his people to get out of the monster's range as it begins to roar and thrash in its death throes. Richard barely gets clear as the monster has lashed out and nearly smashed him with a hand to the ground, and he keeps moving, knowing that the battle is won, he just needs to make sure the rest of his people survive.

Autumn stares at the dead body of Godzilla sprawled across two broken trees and deadfall in the morning light. When the breath weapon had hit her and the other magic users, it had drained them completely in order to protect them, and she had nearly passed out from the power drain. She and the other two, a werewolf witch and the Viking's shaman, had to be carried away from the dying monster. She hadn't seen Richard's actions after his initial attack, when she'd thought he'd died, seeing him hit that tree so hard.

As she stares at the creature, three shapeshifters are working to cut out a pair of teeth as trophies, and three others collecting up the remains of their dead comrade. She blinks as the reality sets in, they killed Godzilla on New York's Long Island. Another moment and she shakes her head in the full realization that she and the others had really just been a distraction, Richard had crippled _and_ killed it.

"Dollar for your thoughts?" a rough voice asks from behind her, and she jumps in surprise, having heard no one approach.

She has her sword up and pointed at Richard, a few yards away and still in his warrior form and wearing armor. He has his hands up in front of him, open, and a smirk on his face.

"Easy, killer, I'm a friend," he says in a near growl as he fights not to chuckle.

"You just killed Godzilla," she says with a shake of her head in amazement. "All we did was distract him for a couple minutes."

"I wouldn't have been able to, if you hadn't done your part," he chides her shaking his head. "Everyone was critical to the success, you're looking at a good sized share of an enormous bounty. Maybe not rich, but well off."

"Not as much as you," she says in an awed tone, looking back at the dead monster. "You'll get, what, nine million from this?"

"Ten mil, five hundred thou, as the primary," he says immediately. "You and the others will split the rest."

"You did do the heavy lifting," she says with a frown. "What about the one you lost? The Jackal?"

"His family are good people, been steadily digging out of debt for the last two years since I took over," he says with a somber nod, looking at the corpse with her. "He was single, but helped with his siblings and their kids. Had a good warrior form and started working security when I took over as Executioner. I'll pay death benefits to him out of my share."

Autumn nods slowly, looking at him in the morning light, "You are a good man, little brother."

He chuckles at that statements, "You have been itching to call me little brother while I'm over seven feet tall, haven't you?"

"Since I found out, yes," she admits with a smile.

"Well, collect yourself, we move out in ten minutes, big sis," he says with a feline smile of his own, turning to talk to Domasca in warrior form who is standing with Mischa.

Floki calls from the crow's nest as he spots the return of the Khan's group. He had positioned himself here as the best archer of their group, and had been instrumental in fending off a weird species of sea lion that had attacked the ship. They had been normal sized for the animal, but with the addition of more ferocious teeth, opposable thumbs and scattered boney plates along their bodies. This beach was apparently where they enjoyed the morning sun, and had taken offense to their presence. They have six of the bodies on board as trophies and plans to roast them when they return to the mainland in celebration of the hunt.

He notes with satisfaction that the party carries teeth and claws, trophies of the dragon they slew, and they are only missing one. A good hunt, indeed.

Richard sits with a smile on his face in a diner in the Bronx, named after the old section of New York City on the Island a few miles distant. He had shaved his face and cut his hair, his fresh hair-cut and smooth face, combined with his three piece suit and smile seemed a better picture to present to Autumn's friend, Trisha. He sits next to Autumn in t-shirt and jeans, her friend Trisha across from them as they all have tea or coffee in front of them. Trisha is a woman in her late twenties, red headed and with a good figure, not athletic, but not soft and round either, and with calluses on her hands that indicate she works at something besides waitressing to pay her bills.

"Trisha, I'm here to thank you," Richard says, having just been introduced as Autumn's brother. "You were able to help my sister when she needed it most, when I was unreachable."

"She's good people," Trisha says with a deferential shake of her head, looking away, her personality more submissive and more than a little intimidated by the man who is obviously successful. "She helped me get on my feet in Clarion, when I worked in her shop with her. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have been able to get out of there."

"How are things?" Autumn asks cautiously. "Here, I mean?"

"I'm getting by," Trisha says with a dismissive wave, downplaying that she's nearly broke and barely making rent. "I waitress and do a shift on the docks helping with stocking. I'm doing okay."

"I'm opening a new shop," Autumn says, both she and Richard having agreed on the approach they would take. "Down in Houston, where Richard lives," she says gesturing at him, then back at the younger woman. "I would really like to start up the business with someone I trust."

"I run a business down there, and I don't have the time," Richard says before Trisha can say anything. "I'd feel better if someone she knew and trusted were with her to make sure everything goes smoothly, and you have worked with her before."

Trisha looks down at the coffee in front of her, knowing that if they hadn't paid for it, she'd have ordered water instead, that tight on her budget.

"I can't," she says with a shake of her head. "I can't afford the move, and I have three more months on my lease. I can't afford to break it."

"I have some connections in the city," Richard says with a soothing tone. "The landlord will let you leave with no penalty, and I'll cover the move, to repay you for being there for my family when I couldn't."

"The only real question is whether you want to come or not," Autumn says earnestly. "There is a growing playhouse community there, and Richard has some friends that I think would be interested in hearing you sing."

Trisha shakes her head again, and Richard interjects, putting a bit more authority in his voice as he looks at her, fixing her in place with his gaze.

"Trisha, I know people," he says solidly, his tone and demeanor. "And I recognize the situation you are in, and I want to help. You helped someone you didn't have to, when you had very little to give. That, to me, is more valuable than gold, and should be rewarded. I don't care what you call it, but we can get you someplace where there are people that can and will help you if you need it. Where you can get a fresh start, and not on the bottom of the barrel, but set up for success. Please, let us do that for you."

"I- I don't want to be a charity case," she says with a shake of her head, looking down now, intimidated by his change of demeanor.

"You'll work for it," Richard says, leaning back and picking up his tea to take a sip. "And if you insist, we'll set up a payment plan to repay me. But I think it's a worthwhile investment."

"I'm an investment?" Trisha says in a puzzled tone, no one ever referring to her that way.

"You have potential, and you'll do better with a little help to start out, and more likely to get the big break that is waiting for you," Richard says in a confident and soothing tone. "This isn't charity, you're going to work, and pay it back. I'll even work up a contract if you'd like."

"We leave tomorrow afternoon," Autumn says, reaching over and taking the other woman's hands. "You can wait til then to tell us."

"No," Trisha says, sniffing hard and fighting not to cry. "I'll go. Tommy left me last week, and I haven't done any work except the occasional piano bar gig. I'll go, there's nothing for me here."

"Autumn?" Richard asks gently, looking at her.

"I'll go with her, to get her things and talk," she says with a nod.

"Take someone with you," he says, gesturing at the barely noticeable Neo-Vikings outside pulling security in jeans, leather vests and weapons.

"We'll be okay on our own," Autumn says with a frown.

"I insist," he says in a gentle tone, and she recognizes it now as his polite way of saying she can't turn it down.

"They'll help," Autumn counters, rising and escorting Trisha out towards her apartment three blocks away.

Richard watches as two of the guards walk behind them with their heads moving and scanning the streets, two left behind to wait outside the diner for him. His loaded omelet arrives, and he enjoys his heavy breakfast in silence for a minute before a figure enters the diner and strides over, sitting across from him without invitation.

"Richard Michaels?" the man asks, wearing a two piece dark blue suit, wool from the smell. The man is a touch over six feet tall, slim and athletic, black and with a shaved head and a pencil thin mustache.

"Perhaps," he replies, taking a sip of his tea.

"This territory is mine, and I don't appreciate poachers," the man says with a brief flash of red in his eyes.

"Bouda or Rat?" Richard asks, recognizing the man's scent as shapeshifter.

"Rat," he says, a low tone that is almost a snarl. "This is _my_ Clan's territory, I want you to leave, now."

"Isn't there a three day period?" Richard asks as he takes another bite of his food.

"It is six hours, here in the inner city," the man says in a hard tone, his demeanor challenging. "Your time expired an hour ago."

Richard sighs, sitting back in his chair and looking across at the man balefully, "Look, buddy, I'm just passing through. Let me finish my business, and I'll be gone tomorrow afternoon."

"You'll be gone in the next twenty minutes," the man says with another flash of his eyes.

Richard takes a deep breath, then moves in a flash, picking up the dull butter knife on the table and pinning the man's hand to the table with it. He then lunges and lands a hard punch on the man's jaw as he yells in pain, shattering the jaw and knocking him out. Richard stands calmly as the patrons all yell and run out, adjusting his suit as he walks outside to his guards, who have bows drawn.

"Go help your partners with my sister and her friend," he says, walking past them in the opposite direction. "I will meet you at the linkup outside of town after I discourage the locals to meddle with us again."

He walks down the four lane street, moving past the few parked cars and into the lanes of the street, only a few carts with oxen and a couple horses on the street. He pauses in the middle of the street, calmly standing relaxed and waiting. The magic is up, having risen an hour or so ago, and will likely remain up for a few more hours at least, which means when the reinforcements get here, it will be a sword and magic fight, not a gunfight.

Three men are striding down the street from the opposite direction, having been about fifty yards from the diner, and obviously watching for him and their boss. His guards had gone down a different street, going after Autumn and Trisha, and hadn't seen them. One has a crossbow, and the other two pull out long daggers as they run at him. The man with the crossbow fires, and Richard dips and sways to the side, the magic explosive bolt passing by him. He straightens, pulls a long dagger and throws it in one smooth, lightning fast motion, and the man with the crossbow lets out a yell as it hits him hard in the collarbone.

The other two men are on him, though, wearing jeans, t-shirts and loose denim vests. Richard pulls his gladius and attacks without hesitation or restraint, and in less than ten seconds both men are on the ground, dead, with an extremity severed. Richard keeps out his sword for a few more moments as he walks to the sidewalk and calmly towards the rendezvous, the flames burning the blood off. He checks his surroundings as he walks, a crowd gathering around the bodies and he can see no one following him, though a few gesture in his direction.

He takes a circuitous route out of the neighborhood, doubling back a few times, then going the opposite way from the rally point before heading that way again, walking calmly the entire time.

Richard sits on the rail next to the bow of the ship he and his people are riding in. It's a longboat similar to the one they had used to raid the Island, but a dozen yards longer for more comfort and room. They had traded the vehicles in and gotten the boat when Richard had decided they would go by water to try and keep away from dealing with problems in local jurisdictions. He doesn't want to have to fight every time he crosses a border, like New York ended up being, and reminding him of his sojourn back from South America.

Autumn had not been pleased, but she kept it to herself this time, learning that she needs to keep her attitude in check in front of the others. He knows that she's surprised at the differences between the man he was to the man he is now, and she is coming to grips with it slowly. He's pulled from his thoughts by a yell from the crow's nest.

"Coast Guard ahead!" the shout goes out, and he turns to look in the direction the man is pointing. "Signals for us to prepare for boarding!"

"Slow and prepare to receive boarders," Richard says calmly to Jark who is nearby and looks the question at him. "It may be legit or a trap, be prepared for both."

The deck is a flurry of activity, and he walks to where Autumn is sitting and talking with Trisha in the tent erected to cover the center of the ship.

"It's probably just a customs check," he says with a reassuring smile, though he picks up a bow and quiver of arrows before leaving the tent again to be in the bow of the boat.

Richard stands in the bow of the boat, his eyes fixed on the growing shape of a US Coast Guard ship. Back before the rift with magic, the Navy and Coast Guard had large, steel ships with powerful diesel and nuclear engines that could push them to incredible speeds. Now, they have reverted to ships of the line that would fit in with the late 1700s, with large sails, ropes all over it and 2 to 3 decks on it. They are expensive as hell, though, which is why Richard has leased this longboat rather than buy a true sailing ship. It means they are slower and have to stay closer to land, but he's not interested in braving the open sea.

He checks the Vikings and Shapeshifters on the deck with him, and they are all in light clothing with leather for armor, not wanting heavy metal in case they have to swim. They either wait with weapons in hand, and a few have bows or rifles in hand, the tech up and magic having receded from the world. He looks back at the Coast Guard ship and frowns at the signal flags and he recognizes the orderly and uniform fashion of the crew.

"It's a legit ship," he calls to the crew, lowering his bow and resting it on the ground, removing his quiver as well. "Put up your weapons, this shouldn't take long for them to do an inspection."

He waits as they pull alongside, and throw ropes to the lower and smaller ship, and they tie alongside in the calm waters. He is waiting by the bow when a man in a blue Coast Guard uniform descends the rope from the other ship and lands on the deck with bent knees, four Marines having preceded him with rifles and pistols. Richard dislikes having to defer, but he doesn't want trouble with the government, and they are being cautious, which he can't fault.

"Richard Michaels?" the man says, wearing the rank of a Commander and looking to be in his forties.

"That's me," Richard replies, hiding his surprise as he steps forward.

"I have orders to escort you to the capital, sir," the man says, gesturing to the bigger ship.

Richard pauses as all of his people automatically tense and a few of them have their eyes flash with power. The Marines around the officer sense it and tense automatically, and Richard slowly raises his hands palm down in a calming gesture.

"Easy, everyone, easy," he says calmly, looking directly at the Commander. "I can't leave my people. Is it okay if you escort our ship, and we'll dock in Baltimore?"

"The Naval Base just outside D.C. is expecting us," the Commander says, uneasy as he realizes how close they were to violence a moment ago, and that he likely would not have survived it. "It is not a problem to have your ship berthed there as well."

"Good, we'll do that then," Richard says with a look at Jark and Floki who scowl but nod. "What is it about?"

"I don't know, sir," the older man says with a frown. "Above my pay grade."

Richard sits in a sterile room in an old wooden and plaster building in the Washington D.C. Naval Yard, his guards outside and Mischa sitting beside him. They had been escorted directly here, at night, and though they had been treated politely and with deference, he feels like he's about to be black bagged. They had asked him to surrender his weapons and he had handed them over, but only because he can form his hands into claws while remaining in human form.

The door opens and a pair of men enter, one in an Army Uniform that he recognizes, and a man in a neat suit and tie that he doesn't. Richard rises with a tight smile and shakes the hand of the Army officer, his commander when he was in the Army.

"General, it's good to see you again," he says, purposely not using his name, as there is none on the shirt he wears, though a stack of ribbons adorns his left side.

"Michaels," the General says, using his current name and nodding in return. "You look good. I see married life is suiting you."

"It is," he says with a nod, sitting as the older man does. The General is in his fifties, a career officer who had begun as a lieutenant before magic returned to the world, and had been instrumental in keeping the US together. When things began to sort out, he had spearheaded and founded the Ghost battalion of the Ranger Regiment, where Richard met him. He is stocky and tall, with a forgettable pale face and gray hair trimmed close to his head.

"I assume you're not here to arrest or kill me," Richard says with a sardonic smile, glancing at the other man, whom he pegs as CIA or another government agency.

"We're here for your help, actually," the General says, glancing at the other man.

"Two months ago there was an attempt on the President's life," the man says without introducing himself. "He was uninjured, but his wife was mauled badly by the attacker, a werewolf."

Richard nods, understanding, "That has not hit the news, the attack or the infection of LycV."

"It will come out eventually, the President's Cabinet and people are working on it," the General says with a nod. "But there have been complications."

"Does the local Pack know, and does she have a sponsor?" He asks, glancing at Mischa, who is simply sitting and listening, a human tape recorder for him to double check himself later.

"No one but a few know," the General says with a shake of his head, glancing at the suited man. "The President and I served together in Afghanistan, before the Shift, and he asked me to see if there was any way to get her help."

"Reports came in regarding your activities on the Island in New York," the suit says, pulling a picture from his file and closing it again. The picture slides across the table and settles in front of Richard, a hand drawn picture of the dead body of Godzilla. "When you leased the boat, we were notified and sent out an all points bulletin to have you brought here."

Richard quirks an eyebrow slightly at the man in assessment. He had leased the boat through a proxy and had the paperwork submitted late. It should have been a damn near untraceable lease and route plan. This man, whomever he is, has high level connections and resources, he must be CIA or former CIA.

"Damn fine job, by the way, Michaels," the General says with admiration in his voice. "When I heard you'd been infected, I knew you would survive. And the reports since have not disappointed, either."

"Interesting reading, as well," the suit comments with a flatter tone.

"You want me to counsel or sponsor the First Lady, I presume?" Richard asks, leaning back in his chair as he thinks over the implications.

"Yes," the General says with a sour look at the unidentified man. "She was okay originally, didn't go loup, as we were able to get panacea for her to stabilize her, and get her though the initial infection. But she's started to become less stable, and two weeks ago, she lashed out and injured two Secret Service agents and a Marine guard."

"I will need to do this right, or not at all," Richard says, looking at the General directly.

"I, and the President, understand," he replies in his own commanding voice.

"She's going to have to take a leave of absence, either a vacation or a trip to a foreign embassy, perhaps," Richard says thoughtfully. "So she can come to Houston to learn how to control herself."

"Can't you do it here?" the suit asks with a furrowed brow.

"I'm not some drifter that can disappear for a month or two," Richard says at the man in a scathing tone. "I'm the CEO of large company and responsible for the welfare of hundreds of people."

"The President won't like it, but I'll talk to him about it, he'll understand," the General says with an angry look at the man as well.

"The President would like to invite you to the White House, since you're in town," the General continues, looking back at Richard with a smile now. "Officially, it is to congratulate you in ridding New York Harbor of its Magic Hazmat, as well as to show his support of the shapeshifter community."

Richard chuckles, "It's his first term, and he's a Jacksonian running close with the Libertarians. He's not sure he's going to win."

"The Flare caused a lot of damage to many cities, and like it or not, they want someone to blame," the General says with a frown as he agrees, disliking politics. "They've latched onto him, and he's doing damage control still."

"Sometimes, that's all you can do," Richard agrees. "I'll make some arrangements and stay in town for a couple days, then we'll continue on. I have a meeting in Atlanta that I'll have to reschedule, but it should work out when they hear why."

"I appreciate this, Michaels," the General says, standing and reaching out to shake hands again. "Once you get a place, the invitation to the White House will arrive, and we'll talk again there."

"Sounds like a plan," Richard says, returning the handshake then leading Mischa out behind them.

Finally alone and with wards in place, Richard is speaking with the Pack leaders who had accompanied him, Autumn not present in the room with them. Richard had rented three condos in town for a week, two floor flats, in which all his people are in, if a bit less spacious than they prefer. They are in the bedroom Richard is staying in, sitting in chairs or benches for their small council.

"The General knows you, from before?" Thomas asks, leaning back in his chair, shaking his head slowly in surprise.

"I keep telling everyone, I had a long career and life before becoming a shapeshifter," he says with a shrug. "Let's move on, please."

"She'll be undocumented until we get back to Houston, but I can reach out to the Pride and have them make arrangements to have an extra passenger overlooked when we dock," Mischa says to the group.

"Good," Richard says, knowing the details will sort themselves out, as he has good people and he has the resources, more now than ever. "And I think we need to talk about the visit to the White House. Thomas, Mischa, you two are best suited, I think, to get us the armor and weapons to be ready on this battlefield."

"I prefer claws, khan, you know that," Thomas says with a puzzled frown. "Besides, we're not fighting, I thought."

Richard smiles in amusement, "No, I meant the political battlefield we'll be walking through. Mischa and you both work a combination of politics and power. Mischa is the good cop to your bad cop while I deal with situations here, and talk with those in power and with influence."

"I've already contacted the best tailors in town with our measurements and requirements," Danny Torres says, looking up from his own to-do list. "They will have the basic stuff for security tomorrow morning, but the tailored stuff for the Alphas will not be ready until the afternoon. I'm spreading out the shopping, to keep our signature down, but paying top notch to make sure we aren't slighted and look shabby."

"I imagine that there will be a requirement to get her out of the city quickly, as well as quietly," Richard says with a look at Domasca. "I want you to work up a plan to move her. No one outside this room is to know who she really is, except Floki, if you need manpower from the Vikings. Jark is prone to talk when he drinks and is bad with secrets, even though I trust him."

"Yes, khan," Domasca says with a nod, mentally taking notes. "I'll have something for you in the morning, a few outlines and broad strokes, until I can talk to whoever will be the contact at the White House."

"Good, good," Richard says, nodding. "All the security is going to be in dark blue suits, white shirts and clip on ties, the Vikings are going to balk, hard. I don't care if they keep the beards and hair, but they'll have to fit in. If not, they don't work. We have just enough people from the Horde to do the detail, but it will be easier with them. The good news is the Secret Service is very good, and they're going to handle a lot just so that they don't have more of us around. Shapeshifters make them very nervous."

"Mischa, I need everything you can get about the President, his people and his wife," he continues, turning to the were-lion who is paying rapt attention. "We're in town, and that shouldn't look suspicious. Call home to see what they have in files that we can get here, and look to develop local sources. I have a feeling we'll be back here, sooner rather than later."

"Yes, khan," she says with a nod, having already begun.

"The invitation is here, and we'll visit security tomorrow, at a local upscale restaurant, do the initial meet and greet with the Service detail, and the following day the President is having us for a semi-formal dinner," he says with a look around at his people. "We have work to do, let's be about it."

Richard sits in a deep leather chair in the upscale restaurant, apparently at ease in his expensive two piece suit, shirt and tie. Internally he is tense and scanning his surroundings surreptitiously, his gladius in its sheath leaning against the chair. The management had tried to convince him to leave it, but he is a stranger here, and he knows that there is a small but strong shapeshifter presence in the city. He doesn't want a repeat of the New York diner incident, and if it comes to that, he'd like to have his sword with him.

He raises the crystal glass with expensive whiskey in it and takes a sip as he waits in the back lounge area of the establishment, a place for the power brokers in town to meet. He rises as the sound of soft footsteps reaches his ears as well as new scents of other shapeshifters. His sword remains where it is as he clasps his hands in front of him and waits, mentally parsing out the newcomers' scents in his head.

Domasca enters leading two others, both Caucasian, one male one female and both in suits. The man has bright blond hair, a square lantern jaw and hazel eyes flecked with gold, wearing a dark green suit and tie over a yellow shirt. Richard knows the man from background files, Johan McWhirter, the Executioner for the local Pride, a were-lion. The woman is a hair shorter than Richard in low heels, a dark gold pant suit that is soothing rather than over the top, a white collared shirt with the top two buttons open. She is Jessica McWhirter, a bright blond like her brother, lean and athletic with the grace of a dancer, and dark blue eyes. She is the Alpha of her Pride and the dominant shapeshifter in the city.

"Ms. McWhirter," Richard says, extending his hand, and she shakes it with a smile, though her eyes never leave his.

"Mr. Michaels, a pleasure to meet you," the woman says, leaning innuendo into the words. "I have heard of you, and am eager to get to know you."

Richard has released her hand, taking a breath to calm himself, glancing at Mischa just behind the newcomers with tension in her shoulders and frame. He returns his eyes to the woman in front of him to find her looking down his body, as though he were a piece of meat. His inner beast disapproves, and he allows himself to growl with a flash in his eyes.

The woman pauses in her assessment at the sound and flash, and her face changes to one of challenge and anger.

"I am not of your Pride, McWhirter," Richard says in a low, dangerous tone. "I am a married man, and am not interested in dalliances."

"Did you just call my Alpha a 'dalliance'?" Johan says in a menacing growl of his own, squaring off on Richard.

"Be quiet, adults are speaking," Richard says, his eyes not leaving Jessica, who is reassessing him based on his actions.

Johan bristles and reaches forward, placing his hand on Richard's shoulder. Richard reacts instantly, protocol in these meetings being that they may not touch, unless invited, and he is allowed to react. He grabs the man's hand and wrist, twisting while spinning on his toes, and he feels the pop of broken bones in the huge man's hand and a dislocated shoulder. Johan is bellowing, Richard still holding the locked out arm, and Richard strikes the much larger man hard in the jaw near the joint. The man stiffens and falls over, unconscious despite his other injuries.

Richard adjusts his jacket, having it sit right and he straightens his tie, facing off with Jessica again. The entire grapple took less than two seconds.

"Now, I don't want any trouble while I'm here," Richard says, clasping his hands in a relaxed manner in front of him, ignoring the stiff, unconscious man lying to the side. "I hope to be done in only a few days, and if it will be longer, I will let you know. I know that it is customary to ask permission and to present a gift."

He gestures to Thomas, who steps forward with a leather suitcase and hands it to her.

"I don't know what kind of gift is appropriate, but I figure everyone loves money," he says as Jessica cautiously opens the case. "Twenty thousand, in gold and silver. I don't need protection, just keep your people away and I would suggest letting any friends you have in town know to stay out of my way. I'm not here looking for trouble. Just passing through."

"I will relay your message," she replies in a neutral tone, taking a breath then adding. "We deal with visitors often, the going rate is usually ten grand per day. It includes what you have asked for. If you go past three days, you will owe."

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it," Richard says, reaching down and retrieving his sword, placing it in the loop dangling at his left side from his belt.

He walks past her without looking back, and is nearly out of the room when she speaks again in a softer, inviting tone.

"If you change your mind, on the other, it would likely cover your extension," she says, and Richard pauses at the door, his back to her.

"Speak of it again, and I will allow Mischa here, our Pride's beta, to beat you for suggesting it," he says evenly, then moves again. "Good day, Ms. McWhirter."

Richard is sitting in his room, leaning back on the bed with the phone to his ear, Tasha on the other end in Houston.

"I thought Mischa was going to pounce on her both times," he says through the line. "I've never seen her that angry, I think."

"Maybe she should be the bad cop while you're in town," Tasha jokes on the other end, a smile in her voice.

"That would make Thomas as the worse cop, because he can- _not_ do good cop," Richard chuckles back, knowing that was the joke she was fishing for. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too, love," Tasha replies. "Mischa will be fine, I spoke with her an hour ago, when you first got back. She understands my position and I know hers. Also, I'm breaking this to you, as I've already given her instructions."

"Breaking what to me?" he asks, suspicious now.

"Mischa is going to be arm candy for your time in Washington and Atlanta," Tasha says firmly through the phone, and Richard tenses as the meaning sinks in.

"I am more than capable of handling myself," he objects, though his mind is already racing down that course of action.

"I know you are, we all know," Tasha says, and he can mentally picture her shaking her head while sitting at their kitchen table. "But if she is there, on your arm and not your back, it will warn off others, and that's one less situation you have to worry about. My territory, meaning you, will be marked, and you won't have to deal with it again."

Richard sighs, "I understand, but I'm worried, for Mischa."

"She needs to accept it, and this will not be the first or last time, we will run into this issue, I think," Tasha says with a sigh of her own. "And who else do we trust as much or more than her?"

"No one," he agrees with a deep sigh. "Alright, I guess I have to flirt with your best friend, then."

"Oh, the trials and tribulations you must endure are inhuman, I know," she teases him, and he laughs in response, his mind conjuring her smile and her eyes, missing her scent.

Richard looks at himself in the full length mirror in his room, the only one of his group to have a room to himself. He is wearing a cream colored three piece suit with threads of dull gold and pale red in it, a dark gold shirt and white silk tie. The combination is odd, a striking combination that makes him stand out in the crowd without being outlandish. A small pin on his lapel jumps out from the rest, a black scroll that reads "75th Ranger Regiment Ghost Battalion", outlined in red. He feels naked without his weapons, but accepts that he must follow the protocol for meeting the President.

He buttons his jacket and exits his room, then descends the stairs to meet the others that are accompanying him. He scans the assembled shapeshifters, six of them, and the single Neo-Viking, Floki. Jark had refused to groom and wear a suit, whereas his half-brother had shaved his wispy beard and donned a dark blue jacket like the other guards. The young man cleans up nice, his dark hair with a hint of red in it pulled back in a slick queue at the base of his neck, and his pale blue eyes searching his environment. Richard stops in front of the nineteen year old, looking up at the slightly taller man with a smirk.

"You look the part," he says with a smile. "You have your gun and knives?"

"As per the arrangement with the Secret Service, khan," the young man says with a nod. "And I will be with you throughout the night, except the private meeting. All LycV personnel besides yourself and Mischa will be on the outside perimeter."

"Thomas, I presume there's no issues with running security?" Richard asks with a light tone, joking.

"I have no issues with slumming it," he quips dryly in his own blue suit, designating him as security, though his is a finer quality suit.

Richard turns as he hears the upstairs door open and Mischa emerges. He hides his surprise at her appearance as she descends the stairs in a cream colored dress with a gold colored silk scarf around her neck and shoulders. Her hair is styled in an elegant fashion, twisting up and exposing one side of her head and baring the left side of her neck. She is probably one of the most beautiful women he's seen, and he reminds himself firmly that he is married as she places her arm in his and they exit the house.

Richard walks purposefully into the front hall of the White House, Mischa trailing a touch behind him and Floki behind her. Guards, both Secret Service and Marine, are discreetly placed throughout the hall and building, and he is certain they have the full detail turned out, as they know just how dangerous he is. He would bet money that there is at least a full squad in heavy armor and weapons on standby in case of emergency as well. He would do it, and he knows the General has briefed those here on his background, so he is not offended, as the precautions are prudent, and in a way a compliment.

Richard approaches an older couple in their fifties who stand next to a set of flags of the US and the President, both in formal evening wear. The man is a little under six feet tall, solid with a little bit of padding, reminding Richard of a boxer faded out of his prime, especially with the crooked nose that obviously has been broken and set wrong. He has wide shoulders and a faint, polite smile on his lightly tanned, oval face, neatly cropped brown hair with a touch of silver at his temples. The woman behind him is in a form fitting black dress and a polite smile as well, her hair only a few inches long and brown as well, her features sharp and extreme, hinting at greyhound sleekness.

"Richard Michaels," the man says in a slightly honeyed voice, a practiced politician to Richard's ear. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Welcome to the White House."

Richard shakes the President's hand firmly with a smile of his own, the tech up and cameras snapping, "Mr. President, it's an honor to be invited."

"It is the least I could do, seeing as you rid the largest city in this great nation of a huge threat to commerce and safety," he replies, chuckling at the joke in regards to size. "This is my wife, Claire."

"Mrs. Johanson," Richard says politely, shaking her hand politely, though his nose detects the undercurrent of werewolf.

"It is good to meet you, Mr. Michaels," she says with a smile and nod.

"Please, call me Richard," he replies, looking at both of them, then turning and gesturing Mischa forward. "May I introduce Mischa Flannigan, the beta of the Horde's Pride, and second ranking female in the Horde only to my wife."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Flannigan," the president and first lady say in turn, then Johanson takes the lead and walks to the main dining room. "I was surprised at your menu choice, I would have thought a variation on Mongolian fare, considering your penchant for their titles."

Richard chuckles as he walks on the President's left, "I'm American, through and through, and being in Texas, we love our steaks, sir."

"Well, to be honest, I was relieved," the President says with a chuckle of his own. "We get delegates and visitors that we have to cater our menu to, it's nice to have a simple steak and rib night, other than in our private residence."

"If they didn't mess up the recipe that my people sent, I promise you will have the best barbeque ribs in your life," he says with a smile.

"Where did you get the recipe, if I may ask," the President says politely as they walk slowly down the hall. "The Chef was puzzled at the ingredient list."

"It's a proprietary recipe I found in one of the restaurants in Houston that I own," he says with a smile. "When I had it, after I became a were-tiger, the tastes exploded in my mouth, and I knew I had to share it. We now have eight rib shacks in Texas, and I'm hoping it will continue to expand."

They politely talk about business and personal interests, shooting, hunting and a little about sports as the night commences. Mischa is chatting companionably with the First Lady as he talks with the President, only a handful of other people from the President's close staff and cabinet at the dinner, a semi-private affair. A few hours later, Richard and the President retire to the study with Mischa and the First Lady, alone save for the Secret Service agents standing against the wall at Richard's back.

Richard accepts the glass of scotch from the President, and Mischa a glass of wine as they recline in an antique sofa, the Presidential couple across from them.

"I apologize for the security," the President says in his slightly southern tone, born and raised in Tennessee before attending West Point. "They are nervous at having someone with your capabilities in close proximity to me, especially in light of recent events."

"In light of those," Richard says, cutting to the real matter of their meeting. "Can we discuss those now, or later?"

"Mitchell and Douglas have been with me for years, and they are the embodiment of discreet," the President says with a gesture at the two men. "I believe Mitchell served with you for a short time, actually."

"I thought I recognized him," Richard says glancing back at the slightly younger man in a suit. "Team leader in my Platoon, cycled out just prior to our debacle in New Orleans, if I recall."

"To business, then," the President says, glancing at his wife for a moment. "You know the situation, can you help her?"

"I'm going to give a short briefing, sir, on the situation, so that both you, and her, understand what is happening to her body and her mind," Richard says soothingly as he leans back in the sofa, the older couple across from them tense and leaning forward.

"That she survived the infection is good, though the way she survived it is slightly problematic, and I will explain why," he says as he glances at the whiskey in his hand. "She didn't pull through on her own, which is usually a sign of a weaker personality type or a weaker body. The infection changes a person's body, increasing strength, reactions, enhancing senses. The human mind was not designed to have access to that much power, is the underlying problem. That is why most shapeshifters develop a slight case of Dis-Associative Self Disorder, in psychological terms."

"What is that?" Claire asks, leaning forward with a rapt expression, him talking specifically about her and concern written on her features and posture.

"In order to cope with the situation, the mind develops an alter ego, in which we place the embodiment of our new found power and ability," he says calmly, soothingly. "It is normal, and a natural function of the human mind dealing with the stress it is undergoing, but it also means that there is a constant battle within us to maintain dominance over that other, baser, personality."

"That is why there is a Code, among shapeshifters," the President says with a nod, understanding, likely having already been briefed, but being supportive and helpful for his wife.

"Exactly," Richard says, nodding as well. "It takes discipline and mental focus, and we train our youth in those ways early on. The reason most of our Loups are teenagers is because that is when hormones are fighting the body and causing a loss of focus and concentration. I have been very focused on increasing the training of my people to reduce the rate of loupism in Houston."

"Richard is humble," Mischa interjects with a sly smile. "Since he has taken charge of training and methodology, loupism within our area of influence has decreased to 27% of what it once was. We have the lowest rate in the country, and the least amount of collateral damage, with Atlanta a close second, not accounting for their larger size and numbers. Per person, ours is far lower."

"I told you we could find help, Claire," the President says with a smile as he takes her hand in his, she still tense. "He is the best in the country, he can help you. Everything will be alright."

"I don't make promises I don't keep," Richard says, leaning forward with a serious expression, setting down his glass on the coffee table between them. "It will not be easy, it will not be a quick fix, and your life will never be the same as it was before. I can train you to control yourself, and I can show you what you are capable of. I won't promise success, but so long as you do not quit on me, I won't quit on you, either, I promise that."

"Claire," Johanson says with a gentle squeeze of her hand.

"Okay," she says with a deep, tight breath, and Richard can sense the tension beneath her skin, a storm barely held in check.

"Mr. President, if I may?" Richard asks, leaning over with an open hand.

He hesitates, then nods, unsure what Richard is about to do. Richard stands and walks around to the First Lady, kneeling beside her and gently placing his hand on her bare neck. He coaxes his magic from within, then with a barely audible chant he drifts it to his fingertips and into her. He can feel the roiling power that is in her and unsure of itself, and it calms as it recognizes a dominant presence, his own beast taking charge and reassuring the other that everything will be okay. He takes a few breaths as he chants, then removes his hand and steps back.

The First Lady's head is bowed, and he can sense the tension gone from her shoulders, and an amazed expression on her husband's face.

"How did you do that?" the President asks as he studies Richard in a new light, leaning back while keeping his hand on his wife's.

"I have magic within me, even during tech waves," Richard says with a glance at the two nervous Service Agents, both with their hands on their guns. "If a person is strong enough with it, they can manifest magic even when it has fallen from the world."

"Something to add to the daily brief, I think," the President with a frown of thought, then focuses on his wife again. "How do you feel?"

"Better, much better," she says with a sigh, relaxed. "The tension is still there, but only an echo of what it once was."

"Being an Alpha and a First has some extra advantages," Richard says as he stands. "I can help her, Mr. President, if you will let me."

"Please," he says with a nod of assent, glancing at his wife, then back at Richard, his professional mask in place. "What do you want in return?"

"I want what you've already started, Mr. President," Richard says, returning to his seat, taking up his whisky again and leaning back, crossing his legs as he lounges now. "I want equal rights for those infected with LycV. My goal is for everyone to understand that we are people like any other, not monsters, just because we change shape and have healing powers beyond normal folks."

"You want me to push my agenda further?" the President asks, a calculating expression on his face.

"No, just remain persistent, and when opportunities arise, back us up," Richard says with a shake of his head. "It is already ambitious, and pushing harder and forcing it will cause too much kickback. I'm working in Houston, Lennart in Atlanta, and Icy Fury in Alaska, to change perceptions, which are the largest Packs in the US. We'll keep working at it, and with your support, we'll get there."

"Do you need money, favors?" the President asks, knowing that it isn't that simple.

"We'll contribute from both ends to support her," Richard says with a nod at the First Lady. "I'll need the most support when she comes here to visit. We'll work out a job somewhere in Houston so she earns her keep."

"Good, good," the President says as he glances at his wife. "Are you okay with this, Claire?" he asks gently.

"Yes," she says with a solid nod, looking at Richard now, and flash of blue light under her eyes, but she looks away before being offensive, her instincts telling her not to challenge him. "When do we leave?"

"I'll talk in the morning with your Chief of Staff to work out the details, send me a location and time," Richard says to the President. "Tomorrow night, we leave overland, travelling south. I already have my people working the details of that. I have a few people with me I trust implicitly, but your cover story is that you are a new werewolf from the District that wants to get away from the Pride and the politics. You approached the Wolf Clan Alpha, who is travelling with me, and asked him to take you with him to Houston. You have valuable skills, and are a good sort, so he agreed, and you will accompany us for the rest of the trip."

Claire nods, looking at her husband with now hopeful eyes, then looking back at Richard, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he says with a smile. "We have a long road ahead, and I'm not the one that will walk it. You are."

Mischa is boxing up packages for shipment, the accumulated wardrobe from their visit in the nation's capital, preparing to ship it back to the Bastion in Houston. Claire, the First Lady of the United States and now known to their group as Cassie Johnson, is across from her in the basement, just the two of them as they package everything. Cassie has a small smile on her lips as they work, enjoying the simple manual labor.

"How are you feeling?" Mischa asks as they fold and pack the suits and shirts.

"Tight, anxious," she says with a tight smile. "After what Richard did last night, I felt almost like my old self. But when I woke up this morning, late, the tension, the strain was back."

"We meditate, or something similar, every morning to deal with the tension and the strain," she explains as they work. "I do yoga and breathing exercises to center myself, the khan and nimir-ra do katas in Tai-Chi to accomplish the same calm. And from now on, you must get used to calling him khan. You are not the First Lady right now."

Cassie straightens her back stiffly at the rebuke, not used to receiving that tone from a younger woman, "I think that's presumptuous, isn't it? Calling himself khan like he's king above all others."

"We gave him the title, after he had earned it," she says with a hard, warning tone to the new shapeshifter. "I was there, I witnessed as he almost single handedly crippled and killed a monster bigger than a building. I watched him rip a tank apart with his bare hands that had killed his unborn children and wounded his wife. He administers, judges, counsels, better than any other I have ever seen. You would do well to remember that he has earned all he has, it was not given to him."

"You are a loyal mistress," Cassie says after a few moments of tense silence.

"I am _not_ his mistress," Mischa says as she pauses and glares at the older woman, her eyes flashing gold. "I am second to his mate, and beta to all women in the Horde. You do not yet understand our politics and our culture. Do not overstep before you do. Take the hint, be quiet and learn or you won't last long enough to put your lessons to use."

Cassie takes a deep breath, clenching her jaw, then setting the box she was working on aside, "I'm sorry. I'm not normally so catty, but I'm distracted and tense."

"I think we should go to the roof, then," Mischa says, putting her own folded clothes to the side. "Let's practice some meditation techniques, see if we can't start to find which style centers you best."

Richard is pulling on his clean t-shirt when his door opens, Mischa walking in without asking, a standing arrangement that he will tell them to pause if necessary. She stands a few yards away, and he catches the scent of Claire, now Cassie, as well as sweat and a hint of blood.

"How did it go?" he asks, knowing the answer already, as he had heard the scuffle on the roof.

"She is chafing, but though she was dominant as a human, she's lacking in actual fighting skills," she says with a dry smile, absently wiping the spot of blood from her right eyebrow. "She balked about ten minutes into the meditation session, I had to hold her down as she calmed herself. The exertion was good for her, though. She didn't lose herself, just lashed out in anger and frustration. She's released the tension, and we'll try again tomorrow."

Richard sighs as he pulls on his leather vest, adjusting how it sits, "I'd feel better if we had a pair of shapeshifters on perimeter when you do it. We don't know yet if she's prone to running, and we may need to restrain her if she tries to take off."

"I've talked with Domasca," she says with a nod. "He and one of the others will be with us from now on. He's Wolf's Alpha, but male, so I'll keep training and taking lead, though he'll be there to help."

"Has she shifted yet? Ever, I mean?" he asks, fastening weapons to himself.

"Once, while she was unconscious and they were treating her," she says with a frown.

"That's not healthy, to repress that much," Richard says with a frown as he thinks. "Probe that and focus on it with your discussions. In the next couple days, I want her to shift, with us both there to guide her and catch her as necessary."

"Yes, khan," Mischa says with a small bow.

"It's just you and me, Mish," Richard says with a smirk, using Tasha's nickname for her. "You can call me Richard, or Rick."

"Not yet," she says with a tight smile and shake of her head. "I'm still coming to grips with everything."

"It is odd for me, too," he says with a tight smile of his own, then takes a deep breath and steps to her, pulling her into a hug. "Tasha asked me to do this, she said it would help."

Mischa resists for a moment, awkward, but then lets him hold her, then hugs him back as her body relaxes against him. She takes a breath and lays her head on his muscled shoulder and she enjoys the scent of him for a pair of breaths before he pats her gently on the back and holds her at arm's length.

"Better?" he asks, smiling crookedly.

"Much," she says with an easier smile, gently stroking his shoulder, then taking a step back. "If there's nothing else?"

"Let me know when you are ready for her to shift," he says, turning and picking up his belt with his axe and sword on it. "I have to prepare for meeting the Beast Lord of Atlanta, so that will be my focus."

"Yes, khan," Mischa says with a small smile as she turns away, the embrace being surprisingly pleasant and helpful.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Autumn asks as she and him sit alone in a tent, her having erected a small blood circle round the two of them for privacy.

"You said I should be able to hold many, no time like the present," he says simply, sitting cross legged next to a small lantern as she sits across from him on the ground as well.

"Alright," she says with a sigh, writing with a marker on a piece of paper. "Here it is, _kneel_."

She turns the paper to him, and he looks at the marks scribbled on the paper in the ancient language of magic. The lines and scribbles burn and fight him, etching themselves harshly on his soul, on the essence of his being, and for a moment he doesn't know what to do. His instincts take over almost immediately, and he pours his own power into the word, refusing to be dominated and to own the word rather to be owned. He feels the burning cold through his body as he fights, and suddenly the pressure eases as he establishes dominance, and the word belongs to him.

He is left panting and gasping the night air as he looks at the now blank sheet of burned paper in front of him, and he looks up at Autumn. She is looking at him with raised eyebrows and a surprised look on her face.

"I passed out for a day the first time I tried to own a power word," she says with a nod of admiration. "You just look like you did sprints. Not fair."

Richard is in the middle of the procession of horses as they ride along the road, having ridden a ley line in vehicles, then traded out for horses in the small town bordering it. He signals a halt as a feeling, a sense trickles up his spine, looking at the surroundings, and after a moment he dismounts. He walks to the lead horse, thirty yards away, and motions for everyone to wait as he walks another fifty yards further, his head looking around.

"Come out, Jim," he says in a loud voice, not quiet shouting. "I know you're here. The ambush would be another hundred yards, right?"

A few moments pass, then a figure emerges from the dense brush to the right side of the road, a stocky black man in black jeans, black t-shirt and jacket. His perpetual scowl and brow indicate he takes nothing as a joke and would break someone for any offense.

"Two hundred yards, actually," the were-jaguar says in his normal growl as he approached. "The public maps are wrong about the stream ahead, it shifted two years ago further south."

"Good to know," Richard says, extending his hand and shaking the taller man's hand firmly. "How's life?"

"Complicated, as always," he responds simply. "You're heavy one shifter."

"She was infected in DC, asked us to take her with us, doesn't like the local Alpha," he says with a shrug. "Older lady, infected with wolf strain. We're going to get her through the set up, then see what she decides."

"The Keep is another three hours, let my people escort," Jim says, crossing his arms, as though expecting an argument.

"No problem," Richard says with an easy smile and dismissive wave. "That just means we get to relax while you work. Have at it."

Jim scowls at the man's back as Richard returns to his people and following the Atlanta Pack members to the Keep, home of the Beast Lord and his Consort.

Richard walks easily down the stone hallway of the Keep, his shapeshifters at his back following him, the NeoViking guards camping outside the Keep's walls. He and his people are dressed as they would be in Houston, jeans, t-shirt and a black leather vest, with shirt colors specific to their animal. He wears black, Mischa gold, the wolves blue, and the Boudas red, the others in their clan's respective color. He ascends the stairs in the Keep, rising seven stories before Jim, who is their guide, turns and leads them to a conference room.

Richard turns to his people and looks around with a flash to his eyes, more display as they are in another's territory, "Stay here. Mischa, Thomas, with me."

The three enter the conference room to find only two others besides Jim waiting for them, the Beast Lord and his Consort. Richard studies them as he enters, but Curran Lennart he has studied and knows, the wide, muscular frame and sturdy handsome face of a man who weightlifts religiously, and a faded blond haircut from a broken nose that never healed right. The woman with him, which reports place as a Kate Daniels, a no-name Merc who caught his eye and has mated with him, catches his eye more. Lean and hard, like a forged weapon, he immediately recognizes another fighter, a survivor, in the hardness of her expression.

The sabre over her shoulder radiates a magic he can feel in his bones, but her dark, slightly exotic eyes catch his and he fights not to bristle or snarl at the instinctive challenge in them. She is a fighter, a warrior, and even his inner beast is not fooled by the forced smile on her face as she looks at him as another target to engage and kill, if necessary.

"Greetings," Richard says with a smile of his own, aiming for easy and companionable to drain the reflexive tension as Alphas meet. "My name is Richard Michaels, of Houston. This is Mischa, female beta of the Horde, and Thomas Domasca, Alpha of Clan Wolf."

"Beast Lord of the Free People of Atlanta, Curran Lennart, and his mate and The Consort, Kate Daniels," Jim says in his own menacing voice, gesturing to the two standing at the table.

Richard keeps his easy smile in place as Curran glares at him from across the table, and surprisingly, it's Daniels that breaks the tension first. She sighs theatrically and sits down unceremoniously.

"Just flash the headlights and get it over with," she says sarcastically as she leans back in her chair. "Jim can hold your equipment while I measure it."

Richard chuckles at the joke of measuring their manhood and sits down, not waiting for the were-lion across from him to do so first, as protocol dictates. Curran glances at Kate with a brief scowl, then sits as well, since he and Jim are the only ones still standing.

"I'm not a power player looking to demonstrate or posture," Richard says before anyone else can speak, his tone even and calm, though the words are pointed. "I'm a professional by training, I'm looking to the best interests of all shapeshifters."

"You just came from Washington, what did you discuss?" Curran says, almost accuses Richard across the short distance, his eyes flashing gold.

Richard takes a breath, sighing as he looks across at the Beast Lord, then saying in a firm voice of his own as his eyes flash orange, "Let's get the shit off the table first. You want to play a power game, fine. Let's go find a nice, quiet, secluded spot and beat each other for a few minutes. Not submission or death or anything that dramatic. Just a minute or two of hitting each other, to air out the tension. I'll even let you pick whether it's human, warrior or animal form."

Curran's eyes flash again, the muscle in his jaw twitching and he rises in a slow, controlled manner to his full six foot frame that fills out at least sixty pounds heavier than Richard's own shorter, leaner figure.

"Human form, unarmed," Curran growls, not breaking eye contact as Richard rises and casually pulls off his weapons belt and handing it to Mischa.

"Watch those," he says absently. "I understand the Consort is a magic expert, and if she wishes, she can take a look at them."

He follows as Jim leads the two Alphas from the room, the others following at a bit of a distance. A few minutes later, they emerge on a large, reinforced balcony on the top of one of the wings of the Keep. Richard scuffs his foot on the ground while peeling off his vest, testing the feel of the stone under his feet. He tosses the vest to Thomas, who stands on the wall with his people on one side of the door, Daniels and Jim on the other side. Richard is impressed with the nonchalant way Kate leans on the wall, though he can sense she is ready to pounce in a moment's notice.

"How long?" Richard asks, shaking out his wrist and forearms.

"One minute," Curran says with a growl, rotating his shoulders. "I'll hold back so I don't kill you by the end of it."

Richard chuckles, not rising to the bait, then flexes his arms and legs, shifting his stance to that the Xiangs have taught him. Curran's face is a flat stony expression as he studies Richard's stance and form, rising his hands up in what he recognizes as an Akido stance. Richard shifts his own footing and arms accordingly, the larger and stronger were-lion a grappler and if he gets his hands on him, he will experience a lot of pain. Curran shuffles forward into striking distance and his right arm snatches out like a viper on meth, a blur.

Richard reacts on instinct, not looking to win the fight, but simply avoid injury and attacking only if the opportunity arises. He dips and sways, pushing attacks away and avoiding the steel like grip of the Beast Lord as he tries to grapple. Richard leaps and lunges a number of times to stay away from his grip, and on one such maneuver, summersaulting away, he sees an opening and takes it. He lands and twists, striking Curran's right knee hard from the rear.

The pissed off were-lion shifts the stumble into an attack, but Richard has moved back and avoids the kick and the grapple attempt. He hears someone call time from the side, and starts to slow down, but is quick enough to leap out of Curran's lunge. He quirks an eyebrow as the enraged were-lion attacks again, and he tries to talk him down.

"Time is up, Lennart, relax," he says, shifting to the side and falling to one hand, rolling and springing back to his feet only to dip away from another attack.

"Curran!" Kate yells from the side, and the Beast Lord stops in his tracks, frozen as he stares at Richard with intense focus.

Richard has paused a few yards away, still in a defensive stance, his joints relaxed as he waits for the next potential attack.

"You're good," Kate says as she walks up next to Curran. "But that's not your usual style, is it?"

"No," he admits, relaxing as she places a hand in Curran's and he relaxes in turn. "I trained in Krav Maga, Dirty Boxing and Jiujitsu. I only recently started Kung Fu."

"I hear you are a swordsman," she says, elbowing Curran, who frowns with a sigh at the gesture.

"We heard you can make your blade flame with the magic down," he says in a hard tone, his face neutral, Kate's aiming for polite but looking a touch psychotic.

Richard pauses as he thinks over the statements, and what he has seen of the two in front of him. Strangers, though he has heard good reports of Curran, but only a few sparse reports on Daniels, though she did attend the Order of Merciful Aid's Academy, and scored very high. He clasps his hands in front of him in an easy manner and speaks politely and evenly.

"I hope we can be allies, and friends," he says with a small, politic smile. "But right now, we are still just getting to know each other. Agreed?"

Curran frowns hard at him, and Daniels' face relaxes a touch, as though she had realized something, and he nods to both of them.

"I think I'll spend a few days here, for us to get to know each other," he says with a glance at the others who had watched the fight. "Would it be better for us to find someplace in town?"

He leaves the question open ended, and Curran rises to the bait.

"Stay in the Keep, or any of the Pack's places in town," Curran says with a wave towards the distant Atlanta. "You are under protection of the Pack during your stay."

"Thank you," Richard says with another slight bow, a habit he has gained from his Kung Fu instructors. "I have no issues with staying in the Keep. I know your chief of security will be more comfortable with us under his watchful eye."

Jim only scowls at Richard's polite statement.

"If there's nothing else, for the moment, I think we'll call it a night," Richard says with a smile, turning from the couple. "It is late, even by our standards. Perhaps we can talk tomorrow, get to know each other."

Richard walks away, purposely turning his back to the human and shapeshifter behind him, but doesn't make it to the door before Kate clears her throat slightly and then Curran speaks up.

"Michaels, stay a moment, so we can talk," he says in a tight, uncomfortable tone.

"Mischa, stay there," Richard says without pause as he stops and turns an easy smile on his face. "Thomas, I'll see you in the morning."

A few moments pass, then the heavy oak door closes completely, the four of them standing in silence under an Atlanta night sky that is threatening rain.

"Part of me misses this part of the country," Richard says, turning from the Beast Lord and Consort to the low wall at the edge of the large platform. "I like the forests here more than in Houston. It feels transplanted, almost, though the miles and miles of open wilderness appeals to me."

"That's one of the reasons I leased the land here," Curran says after a moment in an even tone, obviously searching for civility. "We can call this forest our own."

Richard clears his throat for a moment, looking out at the wild national forest beyond them, and chants the words that have gripped his soul since the moment he found out his animal…

"TIGER, tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? What dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And water'd heaven with their tears,

Did He smile His work to see?

Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?"

"William Blake," Mischa says with a smile from where she sits next to him, having moved over while he spoke wistfully into the night, leaning on the rampart. "Not my favorite poet, but you can't argue with that one."

"I'm more a Kipling fan, to be honest," Richard says with a smile, then turning to the other two on the roof with them. "So what do you say, Curran Lennart, Lord of the Shapeshifters of Atlanta? Are we friend, or foe?"

"We'll have a rematch," Curran says with a grim smile, reaching his hand out to shake, which Richard grips by the wrist in a warrior's shake from old times.

"To be honest, I hear your mate's a great swordswoman," Richard says with a smile, glancing at Kate. "I'd honestly pay good money for a few classes from her on handling a long bladed sabre. But that's the professional in me."

"Who is your Sefu?" she asks from behind Curran, a curious scowl on her face, probably meant to be polite, but failing.

"A were-tiger clan that originated in California but came to me a few months ago," he says with a smile, glancing at Curran again. "They showed me how to do partial shifts while conducting forms. I'll show you a kata or two in exchange for equal number of Akido or sabre forms."

Curran glances at Kate who twists her head in a personal gesture, and he nods firmly, "Deal. Tomorrow, here, ten o'clock."

"I'll wear workout clothes," Richard says with a smile, glad they've broken the ice.

"I'm surprised that worked," Mischa says as they both practice Tai-Chi in the mid-morning light, their moves identical as they go through the slow motions of the ancient martial art they had both been taught by the Xiangs.

"Curran respects strength, honor and protecting others," Richards says, knowing that Cassie is sitting on the ramparts cross legged, breathing carefully in her own meditation. "He needs conflict, as in his mind, he is a hunter and a predator. But he is also a dedicated leader, committed to his people."

"You are a soldier, and a warrior born," Mischa says with a small smile, pushing her palms out in a classic attack in a slow calming motion. "You have no need to beat him."

"I need him as an ally, not an enemy," he agrees, pausing as he catches a scent in the air, turning to the door to the roof that opens a moment later.

"Good morning," Richard says with a smile at the Beast Lord and Consort as they walk onto the large open area. "We practice Tai-Chi in lieu of the traditional meditative techniques found in the US. I find that it helps me more to move as I center myself."

Kate firms her face up and looks directly at Richard with a challenging look he is not accustomed to.

"You say you're a swordsman, let's go," she says without preamble, pulling her sabre off her back and moving to the center of the open area.

Richard glances at Curran who only smirks and shrugs, leaning casually against the ramparts. Richard gestures at Mischa, who picks up and brings him his belt with his sword and axe on it. He buckles it across his waist, black baggy sweat pants and gray tank top on. He fastens the belt in place as he watches Daniels spin the sabre around herself in a warm up fashion with her left hand, recognizing the style.

"Fifty bucks says you can't disarm him, _baby_ ," Curran says from the side, his arms crossed.

"I'll take that bet," Richard says with a smile of his own, to which she scowls at him. "Your style, Russian, right?" he asks, his brow furrowing as he remembers a pair of Iron Dogs he fought with similar styles. "I met a Russian and a Saudi, a little over a year ago with a similar technique. I wonder if you had a shared master."

Her expression goes from stony to angry, and he also notices that Curran has gone exceptionally still, only barely breathing. He senses he said something wrong, and is unaware what. Before he can formulate a reply Kate attacks, and his mind is completely occupied with surviving. She is as fast as a shapeshifter, and whoever trained her was amazingly good, as he receives a narrow gash in his arm before he is able to draw his gladius. He draws left handed, and continues through the series of attacks, blocks and parries with his left hand, mirroring her own left handed style.

He gives ground, parrying and blocking, a weak attempt at an attack as she leaves herself open. Finally, they lock blades, and leaning close, she growls at him.

"You're holding back," she snarls at him, her face fixed in what he can only describe as a psychotic smile of the deranged few who enjoy the struggle and fight.

"You're not left handed," he says in an easy tone, and she snarls as she pushes him away, switching to a right handed posture and attacking him.

After a few series of attacks that he barely staves off, a pair of bloody gashes on his torso, they lock swords again, and are in close proximity.

"I have something to admit as well," he says, as they vie for a dominant position.

"What is that?" Kate grunts, her longer sabre not meant for the close clash.

He shoves her away easily with his shapeshifter strength, then tosses his gladius to his right hand, twirling it in an eccentric and flashy manner.

"I am not left handed, either," he says in a sing song fashion, a quote from a movie in his childhood based on an old fantasy book.

He notes that she grins as she renews her attack on him, and her tone changes from angry and obsessed, to enjoying the clash. Richard parries continuously, blocking and parrying as he gives ground, trying to read his opponent while not repeating himself and getting into a predictable pattern. He receives no new cuts as they fight now, and his existing wounds have closed.

He adjusts and attacks finally, pushing her on the defensive, and he admires her skill. She doesn't meet his attacks with solid blocks, but deflecting his strength and power, and he can sense a hesitation beneath it. She is expecting heavier blows from him, and is gauging how much he is holding back. He shifts his sword back to his left hand and pulls his axe, now picking up the pace of attacks, noting that she shifts to a two handed grip accordingly to counter his increase in attacks. She doesn't stay on the defensive though, and attacks in a reckless lunge that he doesn't anticipate, and it scours a line across his heavy leather belt.

He doesn't lash out in retaliation, though, but continues his methodical and patient parrying and blocking while trading an attack when an opening presents itself, which is not often. He loses track of time as they dance, realizing after some time that it is a dance, rather than a fight, and then he immediately leaps up and away from the clash. Kate slashes through empty air where he had been a moment ago, but he is sheathing his sword and axe as she turns to him with her sword ready.

" _You_ are a master," he says in solemn tones, holding his hands to his sides as he stands straight in his bloody shirt and pants. He raises his hands in front of him and bows respectfully to her in a traditional Kung Fu style, his left foot forward as he bows, his eyes ducking down as he does. "I apologize for whatever I said that pissed you off."

"I can't think of anyone ever calling me that," she says after a pause, lost for words and blinking in surprise. "I usually get smartass and bitch as titles."

Richard smirks, "They are not exclusive of each other. I've been called an asshole and a dick, as well as the best Merc in Houston."

"Your short sword form is good, if simple," Kate comments, wiping the blood on the tip of her sword away with a handkerchief from her pocket, handing the bloody rag to Richard. "I could probably show you some more advanced forms."

"I have them, I just don't use them, unless it's dire," he says with a smirk, using the rag to wipe his bloody arm, the skin closed now but a black line remaining at it. "I am lacking in the sabre forms, and my wife has a sword similar to yours, with a two handed option, and I'd like to bring back a few new forms to practice."

"I'll go first," she says with a smile, gesturing to Curran, who tosses a spare sabre he had carried to Richard. "His furriness wants some of those Kung Fu katas you were talking about yesterday, and this will mean he owes me."

"And me," he says, making a money gesture at the Beast Lord, who fishes in his pocket. Richard smiles at the subtle byplay of the couple, "Mischa, take notes."

Richard stands on the very top of the Keep, the personal space of the Beast Lord, Curran, and his mate, Kate Daniels. He leans on the edge of the ramparts, drinking in the height and the horizon in the afternoon light. It has been three days, and now it is only he, Curran, Mischa and Kate on the roof, Mischa grilling on the charcoal, companionably talking to Kate and asking simple details on her swordplay. He smirks as the Beast Lord speaks up from just to his side and behind him, having attempted to sneak up on him.

"You seem like a good enough guy, Michaels," he says in a grudging tone. "But even my mate can beat you with a sword."

Richard laughs, taking the sting out of what could be taken as an insult, and turns to Curran with a smile, "You know I've been holding back since I got here. I don't want a fight, from you or her."

"You know something," Curran says in a low tone, too low for Kate with her human ears to hear, though Mischa will likely hear only indistinct murmurs.

"I fought two men, Iron Dogs, a little over a year ago," Richard says in the same low tone, his expression and demeanor serious now. "Very well trained in the classical sense. They favored Russian-Asiatic swordplay styles, incredibly similar to Kate's. If I were asked my expert opinion, I would say they had the same mentor, the same teacher, but that she was the teacher's pet."

Curran's face is hard, unreadable, but the fact that he shut down so hard and completely is a signal in itself to someone like Richard. He's been piecing together her mannerisms, and he probes now, needing to finish this before he leaves tomorrow for Florida. Years of experience in the Army dealing with men who thought themselves Alpha males among the elite soldiers and managing them gives him the experience to handle a situation and person like Curran.

"I have no idea who she is, or who trained her," Richard says honestly, shaking his head and looking away into the distance. "I don't care either. Not in the least. She's a Merc you fell in love with and that's good for you. But to me, she's just a source to learn some new tricks with a sword."

"Okay," Curran says with a stiff nod as a moment passes, Richard wanting a response before he continues.

"But I am not stupid, either," he says with a serious look at the Beast Lord, meeting his eyes with his own serious expression. "Anyone with a high enough level of magic familiarity will be able to tell that she's more than a mere human. We are both Firsts," he pauses to add emphasis, "I know you can smell the difference in her, if you don't know all of it. She has strong blood in her, I can feel it just under the surface, yearning to be free, to stretch its wings and show the world what it can do."

"Get to your point," Curran nearly growls, and Richard notices that the two women have stopped talking and are looking at them, the tension in the Beast Lord's shoulders unmistakable.

"I don't care," he says with a fake smile as he raises his beer to the two women by the grill ten yards away. "I know you do, and I'm just letting you know that it's close to an open secret at this point."

Curran sighs, then turns and smiles at the women as well, toasting with his beer as he murmurs, "Don't I fucking know it."

"I'm not your brother, father, uncle, cousin, or even your friend, Lennart," Richard says as they turn to each other again, smirking. "But I hope she's worth it, because someone like that will probably have someone looking for her."

"Let's talk about something else," Curran says with a frown. "You are not telling me anything I don't already know."

Richard grins, then starts to talk about the possibility of partnering with Medrano Reclamations to export some of their salvaged tin and copper to Houston, where they are experiencing a shortage.

"So how did the meeting with the Atlanta Pack go?" Autumn asks from her own doppled mare, riding next to Richard.

They are on a dirt road, heading to where their sibling, Chrissy, is working as a lawyer, having left the day prior from Atlanta. They had left at night with no fuss and with wolfsbane dropped periodically while switching routes randomly to throw off pursuit. Now they are nearly at the border to Florida on horseback, only Mischa accompanying them.

"Good, I think," he says conversationally in the morning light, wearing his customary jeans and leather vest. "We're allies in major conflicts to come, if needed, and we've established trade negotiations."

"I heard you got beat by a girl," she says teasingly, glancing at Mischa who is smiling.

"She was a grown woman, and a master swordsman," he corrects. "And yes, she drew blood, but we danced, is all, there was no victor."

"Danced?" Autumn asks, suddenly confused.

"At a certain level of mastery, you read your opponent, and sometimes, it's not a matter of winning or losing, but of the attack and defense, the movement and struggle," he says, almost sing-song towards the end, shaking his head. "That sounds weird, probably, but it really does feel like a dance."

"No," Autumn says after a moment of silence filled with clopping hooves. "I understand, as I have felt the same when in a circle, casting a complex spell with other good witches."

"It was like that," he says with a nod. "I don't think I've met anyone better with a sabre, and I've met a lot of people."

"So I am constantly reminded," Autumn says with a wry smile beside him.

"I feel like I'm boasting if I talk about it," Richard says, glancing back at Mischa. "What did you think of the fight?"

"It lasted nearly ten minutes," she says with a sigh and shake of her head, looking at Autumn. "I've only ever seen a fight with fighters move that fast once before, the night you fought the armored Russian at the gates."

"I remember," Richard says with a nod. "We went through every weapon we had in the melee, then he resorted to magic when I tore open his breastplate."

"The Khan still won, threw a kurki through the man's head from ten yards away," Mischa says with another shake of her head, conveying awe at the act. "Kate, the woman he fought, had a similar weapon and style, but she was better, and more controlled."

"Much more," Richard agrees. "If I were still human, I wouldn't be a match for her. She's too fast, and strong."

"I would have liked to meet her," Autumn says with a thoughtful frown.

"You know why you couldn't," he says with a frown in return. "It's already a complicated situation, I don't need any more complications."

"Not disagreeing, but it would have been nice," she says with a frown and shrug. "And how are we playing the visit to Chrissy? She knows you're the khan."

"Hopefully she hasn't told anyone, and I can just have her tell people her brother is a wandering shapeshifter," he says with a frown. "Tigers are prone to move through territories, they don't usually have dens, per se. If she's told people, it may get really complicated, or difficult."

"Oh, goddess forbid! Difficult!" Autumn says in mock hysteria. "Relax, brother," in a joking but solid tone, "I talked to Chrissy about it, and her husband doesn't even know she has siblings. You were very specific about how we could live our new lives when you gave us the paperwork."

Richard hears Mischa chuckling behind him, and he turns to look at her with a mock scowl, "What?"

"You two are definitely brother and sister," she says with a smile from her own horse. "I don't know anyone else who would talk to you that way. Davey has known you longest in the Horde, and he wouldn't dare."

"Tasha, and maybe Natalie," he says after a moment.

"That's different," Mishca says with a shake of her head, and a playful expression. "That's your mate and your ex-girlfriend. This sibling banter is different, and funny."

"Just don't spread it around," Richard says with frown.

"Tasha will get a full report, I promise," she says, holding up three fingers next to her in the scout's oath fashion.

Richard growls with no heat for it, then turns back the trail and the rest of their journey to Chrissy, and Miami.

"I hate this place," Richard says with feeling as he looks at the outskirts of Miami, middling sized lakes a few hundred yards across dotting the city below them on a rise of a hill that has a road over it.

"Why?" Autumn asks, having never been here before, and following where Richard leads the group down the small hill.

"The smell," Mischa provides, wrinkling her nose.

"Even as a human, I had a hard time with the lingering stench of rotting fish and swamp," Richard says with a frown of distaste. "It's another hour or so to Chrissy's, we'll get to her neighborhood just after noon."

"We should have called ahead," Autumn says from beside him, frowning at him disapprovingly. "You're being overly paranoid."

"It's not paranoia if they are after you, and you've heard enough stories of what I've been up to for the last couple years to know that there are people out get me, and everyone I know," he says with a shake of his head.

She scowls at him silently as they ride the rest of the way, angry that he is right. As they ride, the magic falls from the world, and Richard shifts his bow and arrow to the side as he straps a 1911 to his thigh. Not long after, they ride up and stop in a suburban area with large lawns, and short, squat houses with reinforced windows and doors and heavy garage gates. Richard pauses in the street, less than a block from Chrissy's, catching a scent on the wind blowing from that direction.

"What is that smell?" he asks, glancing at Mischa. "I don't recognize it."

"It smells like fish and ozone," she says, her face scrunched up in distaste. "And magic."

"That I recognize… wild, too, not anything from a pantheon that I can recognize," he says with a frown, rising in his saddle and standing easily in the stirrups, the horse freezing in place at a subtle command from Richard.

He scans the neighborhood, and catches movement at the end of the street, and he frowns as a creature that resembles nothing so much as a Beholder from an old role playing game, floats over the cobbled stones. The creature is only a giant orbish head six feet across, a central eye in the middle of it like a Cyclops, but with an over-sized jaw and needled teeth like a deep water fish. Tentacled stalks cover its head, looking to be about twenty of them, each ending with a single eye and toothy jaw like the central one, biting the air hungrily.

"Autumn, do you have your gun?" he asks calmly, Mischa bringing her horse even with his, in front of Autumn.

"Like you'd let me forget," she says, and he can hear her loading a magazine into the M14 semi-automatic rifle.

"Mischa, you're with me," he says as he slides off the horse, dropping the reins and walking towards the floating head as it approaches. "If the magic comes back up the gaze of its eyes can kill and destroy with only a glance."

"So, it can't get away wounded, got it," Mischa says with a nod, pulling her own .45 caliber submachine gun from the horse's saddle.

"I'll chase if it runs, you stay with Autumn," he says, jogging at an oblique from it, Mischa going the other direction. "Autumn, wait for me to shoot first."

A loud crack splits the air, Autumn balanced on the still horse as she shoots, having begun squeezing the trigger as he spoke. The shot is only fifty yards, and the .308 medium hunting round passes straight into the main eye, which spurts ooze and blood. The monster roars a high pitched scream and picks up speed, floating against gravity at over thirty miles an hour. Richard reacts without thinking, leaping into the creature's path while drawing a dagger in each hand. He collides with its side, staying on it due to the purchase the blades have caught in its tough flesh.

Five of the toothy stalks are within range of him and begin to attack, two finding purchase and gnawing on his arms and drawing blood. He pulls his right hand back and pulls his pistol, placing a round methodically in the stalks biting him, then shoving the muzzle against the body and emptying the clip. The monster has veered, now twisting and bucking in the air to dislodge the attacker on its side. Richard drops the pistol when it is empty and pulls out his the tactical tomahawk that he wears instead of the ice axe, and hacks at the monster beneath him.

The bulk twists then slams into the ground, and Richard is smashed against the cobbles hard, the air knocked from his lungs. He loses his grip on the dagger in the beholder's side, but jabs his hand into its side, bearing talons now and gripping the flesh hard. The monster rises and takes Richard with him, who chops again and again, chunks of meat falling off it as he does. Richard drops the axe as he hits a bone beneath, drawing his sword and shoving it into the cracked opening, muttering under his breath. The blade's temperature jumps to red hot, but not flaming, as Richard had controlled the amount of magic he pushed into the standard tactical gladius.

The monster roars again, then collapses to the side, dead as its brains are scrambled. Richard rises from the dead monster, flicking blood absently off his blade as he turns from the stilling and slightly twitching head.

"What did I say?" he says, a touch of anger in his voice as he walks towards where Autumn is sitting on her horse, eyebrows raised in surprise at her blood covered brother approaching her. "I said wait, not fire," he says with increasing anger and frustration. "If it had run, I would have had to track it, and it was too fast for me to catch. People could have died."

"I'm sorry," Autumn says with a frown ducking her head. "I didn't think."

"There's a reason I lasted so long with the Rangers," he says in a lower but still angry tone as he reaches for his own horse's reins, the animal spooking slightly at the odd blood smell. "I know what I'm doing, when I say to do something in a tactical situation, do it. Understand?"

"I'm sorry," she says again, frowning and ashamed.

"Go ahead with Mischa to the house," he says with a gesture up the street. "I'll stay here to talk to the cops, or the Order or whoever the homeowner association called for help."

He is already scanning the area in frustration, taking his gun absently from Mischa as she retrieves her own horse. She and Autumn trot off as Richard pours water from a canteen on his face to rinse it some. He'll take a dip in one of the ponds nearby to get the worst of the blood off before the cops get here.

Autumn walks up the front walk of Chrissy's house with a frown, glancing back at Mischa.

"I can do this on my own, can you wait by the horses?" she asks, nearly pleading with the other, younger woman, embarrassed at her behavior earlier.

"Okay," she says without argument. "I can hear people inside, two adults and children. Yell if you need anything."

Autumn nods as the woman goes down the steps, pausing before walking across the small deck to the front, reinforced door. She uses the knocker, a heavy iron on a swing with an iron plate to bang against. It rocks solidly and smoothly, banging loudly. She can sense, a feeling more than hearing, that the activity inside slows, and then a small door the size of her palm in the middle of the door pops open from the inside. She doesn't recognize the man's eyes looking at her, brown and with lowered brows.

"I'm Autumn, Chrissy's sister," she says directly, smiling slightly.

The man blinks in surprise, then recognition of her similar looks sets in, but he still calls over his shoulder before letting her in. He moves away from the door and a moment later a pair of hazel eyes peek over the rim of the eyehole, then away. She can hear the door being unbarred and her sister telling her husband to hurry.

"Autumn, get inside," Chrissy says with an urgent wave inside. "There's something in the neighborhood that got spit out in the last wave. The Order is on the way to deal with it."

"Tony is with me," she says quickly, resisting her grip. "He killed the monster. It's safe outside."

Chrissy pauses, looking at her in surprise, "He's here?"

"Who's here?" her unintroduced husband asks, a tall, spare man with tidy black hair short on his head and a dark tan from his day job as a mason.

"Our brother, Tony," she says with a smile at the man, then pulling her hand from Chrissy's. "I'm Autumn, Chrissy's sister. Our brother, Tony, is finishing up with the authorities over the monster, he'll be here when he's done."

"You have a brother _and_ a sister?" the husband says with a tilted head, surprised. "I thought you said that you were an only child."

"I said I was practically an only child," she says with a tight expression on her darkly tanned skin, her brown hair cut evenly to barely touch her shoulders. "We don't keep in touch much anymore. Autumn, what are you doing here? I thought you would call or send mail."

"It's important, so Tony came," she says with a small smile and a shrug, uncomfortable. "He wanted to see you himself."

Chrissy sighs, then looks at her husband, "Jim, this is my sister, Autumn. She's the oldest, and Tony is the youngest."

"Any other siblings or family I haven't met yet or should worry about?" he asks with a tight smile of his own, trying to adjust and keep things cordial.

"No," Autumn says with a shake of her head. "It's just us now. Our parents are long dead and gone. We don't talk about it much. It was painful."

"Chrissy had said as much," Jim says, an uncomfortable nod of his head then looking into the house past the front door they all stand around. "Kids, come on out, the area is safe!"

"We practice drills, once a week," Chrissy says as she glances back at where her two kids come from the basement door. "A year back a weird bird the size of a person attacked an old lady down the street when she didn't expect it. Had metal feathers and the Order had to come and clear it out, it took two days."

"Sisyphean, or something like that, I think," Richard calls from where he is ascending the stairs to the porch, an amused smile on his face. "Greek, if I recall."

"Tony," Chrissy says with a real smile and running the distance and wrapping him in a full body hug, despite water dripping off of him.

"Hey, sis, sorry we didn't call," he says quietly in her hair, hugging her back. "I hope you don't mind us showing up like this."

"I had started to worry, though thank you for the birthday flowers," she says, wiping tears from her eyes, looking up from her own five foot two inch frame.

Richard looks at her, and though she has more padding than Autumn, she still looks healthy and he recognizes the laugh lines on her eyes. He looks up at where Jim and Autumn stand, two wide eyed and sandy haired kids next to them, one boy one girl.

"And who are these two?" he asks in a singsong voice, walking up to them with a smile. "My niece and nephew, I presume?"

The two kids back away shyly behind their father as Richard stops a few yards away, squatting down to their level. The girl looks to be six or so, the boy maybe eight, but feels small for his size. He smiles and winks at them, then rises up and walks to Jim, hand out.

"Tony Richards," he says with a smile, shaking the man's hand firmly. "Sorry about the wet, we ran into a beholder down the street, I didn't want it wandering around and hurting anyone."

Jim shakes his hand dubiously, looking at him from his six feet, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, "Jim Walker. Chrissy and I have been married nearly ten years. I didn't know she had any family left."

"I was in the Army for a while, but got infected with LycV while I was in, and they discharged me," he says with a shrug. "I don't like settling down, so I move from state to state, chasing Merc jobs. Chrissy and Autumn were the settling ones, I was always a wanderer at heart."

"That thing looked nasty, it didn't hurt you, did it?" he asks, looking Richard up and down, noting the black circular marks on his arms.

"Good thing about being a shapeshifter, we heal fast," he says with a smirk. "I need to drink some fluids and some meat soon, but I'm none the worse for wear."

"Kevin, Donna, come meet your Uncle Tony," Chrissy says, gesturing the kids forward.

Richard lowers himself again, and he meets his extended family for the first time before being invited in for dinner.

Autumn, Chrissy and Richard sit in the backyard of her house, a white picket fence bordering the area off. Its forty yards square with an above ground aluminum pool that is three feet deep in the middle, a small flower garden to the side.

"That is creepy as hell, you know that," Autumn says with a frown and a shudder. "You go from being the biggest badass in the country to just some guy off the street."

"I don't do it much anymore, but you both know my job was complicated with the Army," he says with a shrug, sipping a beer.

They had shared dinner in Chrissy's dining room, though it had been mostly sandwiches and chips, to satisfy the kids. Richard had eaten three sandwiches which amazed the kids and got him a raised eyebrow from Jim and Chrissy, even though Mischa had eaten two. Mischa had been introduced as his partner, another Merc and a were-lion, and is helping Jim put the kids to bed while the siblings talk.

"It's still creepy," Autumn says, shuddering again.

"I'm not moving," Chrissy says immediately, looking directly at Richard. "I've got a good thing here, I don't want to go."

"That's fine," Richard says gently, smiling as he sets his hand on hers. "I just felt it was time to stop by, and since Autumn has seen what I do, she'll verify what I'm saying."

"So you're in charge of a bunch of shapeshifters, big whoop," she says with a shrug. "We barely see you as it is."

"It's more than that, Chrissy, please listen carefully to what I am about to say," he says seriously, then takes a deep breath and continues at a slower pace. "There are people more powerful and connected than the US Government or any agency or organization you could imagine, that would love nothing more than to find someone I care about to use as leverage against me," Richard says with a tight smile, looking to Autumn.

"I know he's the paranoid one of us," Autumn says with a grudging look at him, then fixing Chrissy with her own serious, no nonsense expression. "But he is completely right. I made it bad by going to him, and after this, we may never see each other again. It's too dangerous."

"I came because I want you to know that it's serious, and that though I hope you won't ever experience it, it is a possibility that bad guys may come after you and your family," he says with a solemn expression of his own.

He pulls a small folder from where he had set it on the bench beside him, "This is instructions for if you ever feel that someone is watching you or moving against you, or threatening your family. If the worst happens, I'll do everything I can to get here and get you all to safety."

"Tony," she says, closing her eyes and shaking her head, but pausing and thinking it through. "I'm a lawyer, and I've dealt with some shady characters. I understand what you're saying, but even if you find out right away, what could you do? You're just an ex-Army guy."

Autumn snorts, then chuckles, "Sis, he is not just some former army dude. I've been watching him work for the last couple weeks, and let me tell you, he's a scary motherfucker."

"Autumn," Richard says, but she interrupts him, looking at Chrissy.

"Look at the news, find the article about the Monster of the New York Island," Autumn says with a nod.

"I read it," she says with a nod. "It said a visiting shapeshifter Alpha came and…"

She trails off and looks at him, "No. You're kidding me."

"He practically killed Godzilla all by himself," Autumn says with a firm nod. "I was there, I saw."

"Thanks, sis," Richard says dryly with a sigh.

"Don't be bashful, it doesn't suit you," Autumn chides him, then turns back to Chrissy. "He's got minions too, some of them are pretty cute. And he's doing well in his business, which runs other businesses, though I don't know how that works."

"It's a management firm," Richard says with a frown. "We're involved in the local community."

"If you need help, he can," Autumn says solemnly now, fixing her younger sister with a firm gaze. "He's still the same Tony we grew up with. He's just got more tools and money, now."

"Okay," Chrissy says, then glances at the back door that Mischa and Jim exit.

"Kids are tucked in," Jim says with an amused expression at Mischa. "They were amazed that she could hold both of them with one arm."

"They made me promise to show them my animal form tomorrow, before they go to school, since we won't be staying long," Mischa says with a smile of her own. "Cute kids."

"We think so," Chrissy says as she leans into the husband, who has wrapped an arm around her.

"So, now that it's just the grown-ups, can I get caught up?" Jim asks, looking around.

"That went well," Autumn says with a smile as they ride out of Miami.

"As long as the Order representatives didn't recognize me or file a detailed description," he says with a sour expression. "They arrived only a few minutes after you left. I don't think they recognized me or paid me much mind."

"You worry too much," Autumn says with a disapproving frown, glancing at Mischa, who had remained in animal form and simply trotted beside Richard's horse as they had left Chrissy's.

Richard holds up a hand as a scent reaches his nose, Mischa stopping at the same moment, her head raised and nose fluttering. Autumn stops at his signal and the sudden tension in her companions' figures, mentally categorizing what she is able to cast right now, as magic grips the world. Richard dismounts quietly from his horse, dropping the reins, signaling the horse to stay in place. He makes a hand gesture to Mischa who chuffs quietly then moves back the way they had come as he walks up the road a bit further.

Twenty yards up, he spots what he's looking for in the thick underbrush bordering the road. He moves towards the brush but pauses a few yards short, his eyes unfocused as he scans the dense trees beside the hard packed dirt road. He crouches, waiting as he gathers himself, then leaps over the brush blocking his way, landing fifteen yards distant, next to a small mound of accumulated detritus of the forest, a small pond next to it.

He can smell it stronger now, the scent of a human's fear, mingled with surprise at what he had just done. He keeps his breath slow and steady, and he strains his ears, and he can hear the thudding of a person's heart, in front of him to his right, maybe twenty yards away. He parses the scent signature, and relaxes his posture to stand up straight as he identifies who is in the bushes.

"Come out, young one," he says in a gentle tone. "I'm not here to hurt you. Let me help you."

A few long moments pass by, then cautiously, timidly, a young girl peeks her head out of the bushes Richard is looking at. She is probably in her mid-teens and is probably in high school, and though with mud smudged on her tanned face and blond hair, she seems in good health, not thin or malnourished. Her scent is that of a human infected with LycV, a shapeshifter adolescent, wolf if he recognizes it right. Richard opens his hands to his sides and walks to her slowly as he maintains eyes contact with her, his tone soothing when he talks.

"My name is Richard Michaels," he says, unsure why he uses his real name. "I hunt monsters and demons, and protect people from harm," he continues, a simple description no one who knows him could argue with.

The girl flinches slightly as he gets closer, and he stops a few yards away, kneeling so that his eyes are on level with hers, "What is your name?"

She looks at him with doubtful eyes for a few breaths, then says, "Maddie, Maddie Summers."

"Maddie Summers," Richard repeats. "I'm traveling with my sister, and a close friend of mine. Do you need help? Where are your parents? Your family?"

Her face screws up as though she is fighting not to cry, and Richard makes soothing motions with his hands and slowly moves forward.

"I won't let anyone or anything hurt you, Maddie," he says solemnly, looking her solidly in her eyes, her chin lowered. "You have my word on that."

His tone and demeanor, as well as his words, thaw her, and she lunges forward into him, and he holds her to him as she breaks into sobs on his shoulder. He pats her soothingly as she cries, Mischa's leonine head poking from a bush behind where they stand and looking a question at Richard. He looks to the side, a signal to look around, and she fades into the forest again as Richard picks up the scared and exhausted teenager in his arms, carrying her easily back to the horses and Autumn.

"She is traumatized," Autumn says quietly as the three adults look at the sleeping form of Maddie under a blanket a few yards away. "She won't talk about it, but something happened to her family, and from the way she is acting, she probably watched it."

"Mischa, Autumn," Richard says after a moment, "continue on with Maddie, take her to the next police or sheriff's office you find."

"And what are you going to do?" Autumn nearly demands, her face flashing anger at her brother.

"I am going to hunt down and kill whatever caused her to be this terrified," Richard says with a growl. "That way, whenever the authorities get there, the danger will be gone."

"You have no idea what is waiting for you out there," Autumn says with a wide wave at the forests and swamps beyond the firelight. "You could be fighting lizard men or a dragon for all you know."

"I've killed fiercer foes," Richard says with a smirk. "Maddie watched Mischa shift back to human, and knows she's not to be messed with. I am going to go while the trail is fresh, and track her scent trail back to where she came from."

"Yes, khan," Mischa says with a bow of her head, though Autumn glowers at him.

She flashes an angry look to Mischa, "Say something _besides_ yes. It's stupid."

Mischa smiles softly at the older woman, "I have seen him do too many impossible things that were far more dangerous than this to think he needs my help or advice. I'll tell the full tale of his journey from South America, and you will understand."

"Keep the horses," Richard says, rising and grabbing his pack, placing both arms through it, then picking up his bow, his 1911 pistol on his hip. "Tell Tasha I went in search of a monster, and I will talk to her again as soon as I can," he says, looking to Mischa.

She smiles at him, it reaching her eyes fully, "Yes, my khan."

Autumn watches in brewing frustration as she watches her little brother stride confidently out of the firelight, leaving her and Mischa alone with the teen.

"I still think it is foolish," she says with a sigh. "Just like him, too, walking off to fight something he has never heard of or knows about."

"What do you mean?" Mischa asks, building a pot of stew from their rations.

"He did the same thing, after our father died," she says.

"He killed him," Mischa interrupts, her eyes fixing on Autumn's, compelling her to tell the truth.

"He did," Autumn says with a nod of acceptance. "Our mother died not long after from health problems, cancer, we think. I was appointed guardian for Tony and Chrissy, though I had no education or experience and no way to make money except waitressing."

She sighs as she shifts through her broken childhood memories, "Killing our father gave him the courage he always wanted, and he would hunt the creatures that magic spat in into the world. We lived off the meat and hide of those things until he was the only one left in high school. He got his GED his junior year when it was obvious Chrissy was doing good in college, then he joined the Army and never looked back."

"Except to help his sisters," Mischa adds for her with a smile.

"Except for that," Autumn agrees. "The only two constants of my childhood were Chrissy and Tony. And once he stopped being a kid, he changed, and he became the guardian, the father, we never really had."

"Richard came to the Pack late in life," Mischa says after a few moments as they both watch the warming stew. "But that same sense of ownership, of guardianship, gripped him from the first moment he shifted. He came in like a whirlwind, and the first time he saw inequality, he stomped on it, hard."

"We couldn't believe it, when it happened," Mischa says with a shake of her head. "Danny was unstoppable in the Cat Clan, no one there could stop him, and Nita, our Pride's Alpha at the time, had no interest of stopping him, even if she could. If it hadn't been for Richard, we would have never realized the potential we now have."

"I am having a hard time with that," Autumn says with a sigh. "I still picture in my head a thin, underfed teenage kid with a cheap hunting bow and a stolen knife going in search of enhanced varmints or wild animals to put food on the table or turn in for a bounty."

"Alone, but unafraid of the terrors of the dark," Mischa says with a smile, looking at the fire.

"No," Autumn says in the barest of whispers, drawing Mischa's gaze, her own still on the flames. "He would cry, growing up, scared beyond words, of the dark, of our father and the rages he would go through. I still don't know what happened, what changed him and pushed him to kill our father. But it wasn't me, or Chrissy, or our mother. Something else happened, that pushed him over the edge, that made him what he is. Something took his fear away, and changed it into something else. I'm still not sure what. But whatever it was, he never cried again after he killed our dad."

Mischa digests her words carefully, curious as to what would change someone so, but certain that whatever it was left scars on the youth that eventually became the Khan.

Richard eases to the edge of the bushes, having jogged most of the night following the inexpertly hidden trail Maddie had left. He looks out at an open clearing in which is a house, and he can smell the death in it from here. He circles around the house, catching the thick musk of horses that ran, and some that are mixed with leather and the smell of men, ridden. He stares at the house, but senses no movement, and highly doubtful of survivors.

The horses from the barn ran off, and though there are bullet holes and shattered windows, nothing hints at a successful defense. No graves are dug, and he can smell rotting bodies with vermin on them. He turns from the house and follows the trail of the horses that were rode, leading him to a packed dirt road. He pauses before reaching the road, scanning the darkness and his nose drinking deep of the dark air around him. He catches the scent after a few minutes as the wind shifts, a lookout had been left, and he circles low and around the area he suspects the observer is.

He arrives downwind, and he pauses to parse the scents, humans, male, steel, copper and lead with the hint of oil and sulfur. They are armed with bladed weapons and guns, probably two from the heft of the oil smell. He prowls slowly and cautiously in the deep of the night, dawn only an hour or so away as he creeps silently on the materializing figures in front of him. He pauses as he drinks in the light with his enhanced senses, and identifies two young men with weapons facing the road twenty yards beyond them. They look to be Hispanics in jeans and dark denim jackets over red shirts, gang members, not law enforcement.

One is sleeping, rolled on his side so as not to snore, the other is looking back and forth down the road, fighting the urge to sleep in the pre-dawn. _Diligent but sloppy_ , Richard thinks, _they aren't watching their backside_. He notes it's a mistake they will never repeat as he continues his prowl, then pounces from less than five yards away.

He lands on the awake one hard, grasping and twisting the human head around on its neck, snapping several vertebrae. He turns from the dead observer to the waking one who is fumbling at the shotgun across his lap. Richard swats it away into the darkness and lands on him, straddling the man's chest and his hands curled around his neck, the tips of his nails formed into claws. The man struggles for a moment then stills as he feels the sharp points against his skin and the potential for death sinking in to his waking mind.

"Who- who are you?" the man sputters.

Richard smirks in the darkness, his expression unseen to the man, then leans down and places his lips next to the man. He whispers low and soft, barely audible in the man's ear.

"Babayaga," he rasps, _bogeyman_ , in Russian.

"I – I don't know who that is," the man nearly cries, and Richard laughs darkly at the response, and the man starts to weep in his hands, the smell of urine in the air.

"You will," Richard says in the same creepy, menacing tone. "Why did you kill those people… that family?"

The man is crying as he replies, "The dad, he told the boss he wouldn't pay, that he wouldn't be bullied. Boss wanted to send a message, so we sent it."

"A message," Richard rasps, not liking the fear he is instilling, but an inner part of him reveling in it. "Yes, a message. Go."

Richard leaps up and away from the man with the last, and to the man it seems as though he had vanished. Richard is crouching on the non-vegetated ground a dozen yards away, easing silently into a nearby bush. The man looks around frantically, his weak eyes unable to pierce the darkness, and he scrabbles to his feet then runs to the road and sprints into the night in fear. Richard sits in the dark for a few minutes before moving, the man's fear soaked stench easy to follow, leading him to the lair of his boss.

"I left her," Maddie says softly from the horse, and Mischa's attention is automatically shifted from possible threats to the teen.

"Who?" she asks in a soft tone, looking questioningly at the young girl. "Do we need to save her?"

Mischa wonders for a moment at her choice of words, deciding that it must be Richard rubbing off on her, to automatically jump to the protector role.

"My sister, Jocelyn," Maddie says with scared eyes. "They pinned her, with a knife. I panicked and ran. I stopped in the trees, but she screamed for me to run, to not come back."

"Is your sister a shapeshifter?" Mischa asks as gently as possible.

"She's a mountain lion, like mom," Mattie says with a duck of her head. "I'm like dad, a wolf. We kept to ourselves, away from the Packs. Dad just wanted to make a living, and not do the politics and stuff."

"How old is your sister?" Mischa asks calmly, drawing the teen out, thawing to her.

"Ten," she says with worried eyes. "Dad always warns about losing control, that if you go mad in anger, there's no coming back."

Mischa reaches across to the teen on the other horse, patting her shoulder reassuringly, "He was talking about the loss of control. Of going Loup. But don't worry, the khan is after the bad men. If he finds your sister, he can help her."

"How?" she asks, her eyes scared and looking for the adult reassurance that kids always do.

"The man you met, Richard Michaels," Mischa says with a smile. "He is a great warrior, and a leader. He is the strongest and most honorable man I have ever met in my life. He set out to right the wrongs made by those men, and I have not seen him fail yet."

"He saved my sister and me," Autumn adds from behind the pair, riding in their wake. "He is my brother, and if anyone can save your sister, it's him."

"But he doesn't know, I didn't tell him," Maddie says with a worried expression.

"He's smart," Autumn says with a smile that has a touch of amusement in it. "He'll figure it out."

Richard had circled the old warehouse complex three times, confirming his count of enemy present, and the odd scent mixed in with the humans. The stink is unmistakable to him, that of humans and shapeshifters, a fight ring and blackmarket operation like the one he had broken up that resulted in his infection of LycV. He catches the scent of mostly dead shapeshifters, but a newer, fresher scent he had picked up at the abandoned house tickles his nose. Someone had survived the massacre and the guilty had taken her with them here.

He prowls the perimeter slowly and cautiously, his jeans dirty with mud and his shirt and leather vest crusted with it as well for camouflage. He moves silently and surely as he approaches the roost of a sniper he had picked out scanning the perimeter. He leaps up onto the man's roof without a rustle, swinging down off of the edge and into the roost, striking the man's firing arm immediately. That arm useless and fingers numb, Richard has no worries of a shot going off on accident, and he beats the man quickly and almost silently to death in under ten seconds.

He picks up the semiautomatic rifle, an AR format 6.8mm rifle with a 3x scope on it, and he turns from the exterior to the interior of the compound. He scans doors and windows, confirming his estimate of 20-25 humans patrolling the grounds with guns, the tech up. He pegs them as newcomers in the underground black market for shapeshifter parts, the bulk of them Hispanic in appearance and wearing cheap suits and ties. They look uniform and would deter a rookie, but Richard's eye picks out the subtle differences that say this outfit is not as well trained as they'd like to think. He sets down the rifle and frisks the man he'd killed, taking three magazines from him then settling behind the gun again, picking out another sniper across the compound looking away from him. He takes a deep, calming breath, then the squeezes the trigger.

As always when firing for distance and precision, the shot comes as a surprise to him, the recoil less than he remembers, but his mind already moving to the next sniper position, there being three total including him. He kills the second, then moves to a second floor window where a man without a gun looks out a window frantically, and he places two rounds in the man's chest, then a third in his head as he lands on the ground. He shifts again to another target in the same room, placing one round in the head peeking over a desk, then shifts to the courtyard, where people are starting to shoot in his direction.

He fires methodically and unhurried through the entire magazine, killing five more before dropping the magazine and reloading while moving from his hiding position to where he had entered the hide. He swings down and over the ledge, twisting in the air to land on his feet as only a cat can do. He lands with knees bent, rifle cradled in his hands and moves quickly with the rifle up and canted at an angle to look past the scope and along the barrel. A pair of men round the corner ahead of him and he places a pair of rounds into each man's chest, then one round in each one's head as he gets nearer the tumbled bodies.

He reaches the corner and leans out, using the scope to shoot three men with one shot each to the head, then onto the next which takes him four rounds to kill. He moves forward looking down the barrel without the scope as he moves, firing quickly at the enemy positions and suppressing them while moving. He reaches the hood of an SUV as his magazine empties, and the enemy gets a chance to shoot at him unimpeded. He loads his next magazine under the ping and snap of rounds travelling over his head faster than the speed of sound, and he places the rifle on the ground.

He bends at the knees and grabs the frame of the SUV, then hefts it up and towards those firing at him, flinging the vehicle onto its side. The firing crescendos in panic, shooting at the upper line of the SUV, expecting something to appear over the top of the overpriced Cadillac. Richard snatches up the rifle he had set down and sprints to the next vehicle over and closer to the enemy positions, now only twenty yards from the last of them outside, only six or so left. He slides past the back tires as rifle rounds from assault rifles shatter fenders and taillights. He lunges and sprawls unexpectedly, an open shot at three of his enemy, and guns them down with two rounds each before they can effectively react.

He rolls away and behind cover again as rounds skip off the asphalt where he had just laid. His system is in overdrive now, pumped with adrenaline, and he is enjoying himself despite the very real danger he is in. He stays behind the engine block, which prevents the rifle rounds from reaching him, and he waits patiently for them to slack off. He drops to the ground and looks down the scope with the AR nearly touching the ground. He scans and finds the remaining pair of ankles not far away, and he places a single shot into each shin. The men fall and he can see them from under the vehicle, and places a pair of rounds into each man's chest, killing them.

Richard rolls to his feet and reloads quickly as he continues to scan the area with his eyes, confident that the remainder of his enemy are in the main building, seven left. He enters the front room, and spies immediately a man on a balcony fifty yards distant, he places two rounds in the man, the figure disappearing. He then focuses on the far doorway until movement to his right pops up and he sidesteps to his left quickly as he fires, placing seven rounds in the doorway, then the doorframe. The figure hiding there falls into view and he puts two more rounds in him for good measure. A pair of guys appear in the far door frame, but he hesitates before firing, the one on the right holding a girl by her dark hair.

He pauses and sights down the scope as the man opens his mouth to speak fifty yards away. Richard doesn't wait for bargaining or boasting, but fires a single round into the man's vermillion line, just below his brow ridge, through the majority of his brain, and exiting through the limbic system of his brain that controls breathing and heartbeat. The result is that the man goes limp like a puppet with the strings cut, no twitching, no opportunity to pull the trigger of the gun pointed at the ten year old's head. Richard dismisses him the moment the shot is fired, his instincts telling him the shot is true and he can move to the next target.

He fires the last of the magazine at the other man, and when the rifle goes dry, he drops it unceremoniously and pulls his 1911 .45 pistol, searching for more targets. He nears the sobbing young girl, and crouches near her, relaxing his stance as no enemies immediately present themselves. She looks at him with sad eyes, but he can see that she recognizes the smell of him.

"I am the Khan," he says simply. "I'm here to take you away from this."

She sniffs and nods, holding her arms up to be held, he pulls her small arms around his neck, her legs wrapping around his abdomen and he leaves the smoldering warehouse behind them.

"So there's a story, just south of my territory," Curran says easily from his seat at the banquet table, beer in hand as he looks across the spread of roasted meat. "Of a bogeyman, or specifically, a _Babayaga_ ," he clarifies with a flash of gold in his eyes. "That killed an entire black market ring not far north of Miami. You wouldn't know anything about this, would you?"

Richard smiles a purely feral grin, "There are no monsters remaining there, I saw to that."

"Hmm," Curran says with a frown of distaste, glancing at Kate who is ignoring him and Richard, but talking with Autumn and Mischa who are at this dinner hosted by the Council of Alphas. "I also noticed you picked up another stray."

"Two, actually," Richard corrects with a smile, sipping from his own beer, both men in casual jeans and t-shirt. "They were the victims of the monsters. It seems a _Babayaga_ wished to punish the offenders."

"There were only three survivors from fifteen," Curran says with a raised eyebrow.

"Twenty-five," Richard says with a smirk. "And they were allowed to get away. The girl was traumatized and they weren't worth the trouble."

Curran nods slowly, then raises his beer bottle a little in salute before draining the last of it, Richard doing the same. When they place the beers down and pick up the replacements waiting, Curran changes the subject.

"The local witch coven wishes a private audience with you and your sister, they wouldn't say what about," Curran says neutrally, but a blond eyebrow quirked.

"Russian, right?" he asks in response, his own brow furrowed in thought. "Interesting."

"How so?" Curran asks, twisting his head with the question before drinking his beer.

Richard smiles and points his own bottle at the Beast Lord, "Don't fish, it doesn't suit you. I'm not sure on the reason, and I probably shouldn't share ideas, for professional curtesy reasons. You'd do the same, I think."

"I would," Curran growls in assent. "It's still uncomfortable."

"If it's something you should know or be privy to, I'll fill you in when I get back," Richard says with an easy smile, though his mind is looking at the angles of both the Pack and the Witches and Vohls. "I presume one of the Witches will escort us to wherever the meet will be at."

"Kate will take you," Curran says with a gesture to his Mate. "She's our best contact with them. She'll take you to their territory, then it's on you from there."

"Hmm," Richard says with a glance at the Beast Lord's mate. "Anything I should know beforehand?"

"A walking house on chicken legs is where the Mother lives," Curran says conversationally, referring to one of the three senior members of the coven. "And their meeting place is the inside of a gigantic turtle."

"That's _really_ literal, compared to their history," Richard says with a thoughtful frown. "The Witches and Vohls in Houston aren't as strong, and not as representational of the literature. They follow it, but it's more symbolic similarities. I'd wager this is the foothold of their culture in this land, as the Vikings are in my area."

"The Vikings in your area are stronger?" Curran asks, feigning disinterest.

Richard smirks, but answer the question, "The ones I work with are steadily expanding and pulling their neighbors to their way of thinking. I expect you'll feel their influence in the next year or so. Ragnar does not hold to the old traditions of using period technology. He has embraced the influences of the future, and is adapting with it, while keeping the core of the Viking belief system. I expect him to take the title of king in the next six months or so."

"Do you think that's a good idea? Going against the mainstream?" Curran asks, chewing on some pork roast.

"I met Odin, not long after killing some corrupted Einjenhar, so I have a hard time questioning the wisdom, when their god told me to help them along," Richard says with a smile, Curran pausing in chewing his food.

"You spoke with Odin?" Curran asks, taking a sip of beer to wash down the meat. " _The_ Odin?"

"He wore Carhart and denim," Richard says with a smirk. "And smelled like ravens and wolves, with yew in the mix, and his great spear in hand."

"Deep conversation?" Curran asks, recalling his own talks with those who claimed godhood.

"Not really, more of a warning and request to help his Vikings make their way," Richard says with a tic of his mouth. "Some of the luck I've had may have come from him, though I'm unsure. I don't pray to him."

"I'll keep our people aware of the shift in the Neo-Viking style," Curran says with a nod of his own. "We encountered a wannabe Egyptian god not long ago. Put it down hard."

"Which one?" Richard asks, his interest piqued.

"It was two, really," Curran says with a shrug. "Essentially it was Anubis and Set."

"The Jackal and the Snake," Richard says with a thoughtful frown of his own. "How bad was the collateral?"

"Not too bad, but they threatened our children, the Jackal was able to teleport one of our youth," Curran says with a growl at the memory.

"I'll keep that in mind when and if we deal with our own high powered enemies," Richard comments with a nod of thanks at the intel.

"How are your dealings with the People in your area?" Curran asks, and Richard accepts the change in topic, their conversation heard by all the shapeshifter Alphas and the real reason they are having an informal dinner among the leaders of both Packs.

"Waning," Richard says with a tight smile. "We've opened a Casino in the Native American territory, and if it does as good as I think it will, I'm pretty sure that Roland is going to reinforce and push against us."

There's a pause at the table from Kate, Curran and Jim, and he can sense their tension rise for a moment, but he ignores it as he continues. There is something deep there, something personal, but he doesn't want to lance it. He doesn't want their politics and personal vendettas on his doorstep, he has enough of his own.

"I've consolidated our people and focused on team training and consequence management," Richard says with a signal to an attendant that he will need another beer. "If they push hard, with members of the Gold Legion, it will be tough, but I plan on fighting defensive and smart, make the cost too high to win. If they commit to taking us, we'll destroy so many vampires and navigators in the process that they won't be able to have a coherent force again for at least ten years."

"You sound _really_ confident about that," Curran says with his own furrowed brow, leaning on the table to look across it at Richard, and the other conversations have nearly died away at the table.

"The entire Horde is outfitted with armor in human, animal, and warrior form," he says with a grim smile. "I've forced weapons training as well as hand to hand. If the Horde goes down, it will go down fighting and shove a lance into the gut of the People, should they decide to strike us. Then it will only be a matter of finishing them off before they recover."

Curran stares across at Richard, who meets his eyes levelly with his own nearly manic grin, his thoughts on the battle the People may bring to him and his people. Curran's mouth curves into his own predatory grin, assessing and realizing the truth in Richard's words. He stands and raises his beer high while still looking at Richard, who also rises with the taller were-lion.

"To our Allies and Siblings in the Houston Horde!" Curran roars in the large banquet hall under the Keep. "May those who wish to humble them and us regret the day they choose to fight!"

"To _all_ the Free People of the Code!" Richard says immediately after, gesturing his own beer up that everyone else mimics, also on their feet now, his toast to everyone, not just Atlanta or Houston.

Everyone in the banquet hall raises their glasses and toasts to the Free People, and Richard knows that there will be more detailed conversations in the next couple days about the topics discussed.

Richard is riding a horse he had acquired while travelling from D.C., following behind the Consort through the streets of Atlanta, Autumn at his side mounted. They've been riding for a while in silence, and Richard finally breaks it, commenting on her horse.

"I didn't realize that you could get a horse that big," Richard comments, shaking his head as he looks at the monster she rides.

"His name is the Dude," she says, rubbing the horse's neck with a smirk. "He's been my ride for a while now. He never balks at anything, not even when walking next to a vampire."

"Why would you ride next to a vampire?" Richard asks, curious.

"Politics," she answers with a renewed stiffness.

Richard takes the hint and lets it go, and they ride on in silence for the rest of the trip. After an hour of trotting their horses, they come to the edge of what Richard guesses is a park, though the trees and vegetation has run amok. He pauses as he studies the dense trees and knows now why they took horses and not a Pack Jeep, as it is impassable to a vehicle. He follows where Kate leads her massive horse, picking its way over a trail barely wide enough for the massive beast.

They are a couple hundred yards in when she reins in the horse in a slightly wider part of the path and motions Richard to the lead.

"Follow this trail for another two hundred yards, it will twist some, but it will take you to a clearing and a cat or a rabbit or maybe a duck will appear to lead you to the coven," she says, gesturing him ahead.

"Thanks," he says with a duck of his head, riding past her and leading Autumn the rest of the way.

The horses pick their way down the trail in the noon light, and he frowns at the gloom caused by the overcast sky and the thick canopy of trees. They emerge as they were told in an open clearing that is part swamp part grass and bushes. He dismounts from the horse and drops the reins as he scans for the animal he's supposed to follow. A black cat eases out of the underbrush and Richard faces it with a calm face as he mentally takes stock of his usual weapons on him, including a bow and quiver slung across his back.

The cat merely meows at them then turns and picks its way into the swamp, but Richard pauses as the water fifty yards away ripples. A dome starts to emerge from the water, huge and covered with moss, dirt and vegetation. As it emerges, he realizes it's a giant turtle, and it rotates around until it's massive head, easily five yards high, is pointing in their direction. He blinks and forces calm as he follows the cat that walks to the head, which lies down on the ground and stretches its mouth enormously wide. The cat walks into the mouth and down its throat and Richard pauses before entering.

"This is new," he says as he looks down the open corridor of the turtle's esophagus.

"I'll write that on the calendar," Autumn says as she peers down the throat as well. "I didn't think anything would surprise you anymore."

"Ha ha," he says dryly, then leads them down the spongy mouth and throat.

Inside it seems as though the entire turtle is hollow, the giant dome of a cave inside, though the roof is nearly transparent, allowing in light that adds to the feylanters spread around the walls. There are puddles of water, turtle spit he presumes, around the interior, and at the far side is a raised platform, where three women sit. Richard studies the three women as they walk across, each one very different from the others. One is an extremely old woman with heavy wrinkles and completely gray hair and an angry expression on her face as she openly glares at him. The second is a greying motherly type, knitting as the cat that led them here curls up at her feet. The last is a beautiful young blond woman, obviously the maiden.

"I am Richard Michaels," he says as he pauses about ten feet away from them, looking at them all. "You asked for this meeting."

" _Babayaga_ , eh?" the crone asks, her accent heavy, her voice heavy with scorn. "You are no _Babayaga_."

"Translated it means bogeyman in English," he says with a frown at the woman. "I know Baba Yaga," he says slowly to punctuate the difference, "is a representation of a mythical goddess or witch. Besides, I was fighting evil men, it sounded good at the time."

"Pah!" the old woman says with a gesture at him which he ignores.

"We understand that the Black Vohls in your area attempted to raise Chenerbog into our world," the mother says with a raised eyebrow and a somber expression, her knitting needles still clicking.

"They did," he says with a nod. "They stole the cadaver of our former Pack Lord and were attempting to imbue his essence within it. In a partnership between the NeoVikings, the Witch and Vohl community and my own people, we were able to stop them."

"We understand they have been severely weakened there, and we have spoken to their leaders," the maiden says in songlike tones. "We are sending a group to help them, to bolster their defenses until they can stand alone again."

"I am sure they are grateful," Richard says with a nod of appreciation, having a feeling where this is going.

"We want you to escort them, as you are going that way already, and are on good relations with them," the crone says, sneering at him.

"As long as the follow the rules of the road, we will have no problems," Richard says with a nod at the crone, smiling.

The crone sniffs at him but says nothing else, and the mother picks up next.

"We have something to discuss with you alone," she says, and all three witches raise their hands, and a wall of ice rises up and separates him from Autumn, surrounding her in a column of ice.

Richard's jaw twitches and his sword is out on reflex, his voice low and hard when he speaks, "If she is harmed in any way, all three of you will not see the next sunrise."

"This from a man who doesn't even have one power word," the crone scoffs.

Richard rumbles under his breath and the crone trembles at the use of a word in the ancient language. He pours power from his essence into the word and her will is not strong enough to refuse him as she bends forward onto all fours.

"Enough!" the mother cries out, standing and her arms out, one at the maiden who has reached into a pouch on her waist and the other towards Richard. "She is unharmed, merely cut off. We wanted words with you alone. We wish to talk of Roland."

Richard pauses, his mind elsewhere, but quickly returning to the statement she had made, "He is thousands of years old, powerful beyond measure, and has control of both the People and the Iron Dogs. I have no doubt you know this already."

His statement is blank and straightforward, looking at all three witches, the crone getting up slowly with a deeper scowl at Richard.

"He is coming to Atlanta, to conduct a Claiming," the mother says, looking at Richard meaningfully.

He nods slowly absorbing her words. Roland had done the same in California, and a few other places in the country. Places wiped clean by the American settlers of the old magic that had rested there, easy to claim by another. The claiming grants him additional power and abilities, beyond what his normal body and mind would be capable of. He thinks for a moment before speaking, easing his stance and sheathing his gladius.

"Magic can be used during the tech waves," he says with a solid look at the mother. "If a user is strong enough, they can do it. I can, with the enchantments on my weapons, and I have no doubt Roland can as well. It won't be as strong as when the magic is in swing, however."

"Why do you tell us this?" the crone asks, her face skeptical.

"The next magic flare will be the last in which tech returns to the world," he says, looking at all of the women in front of him. "If Roland survives until that time, it is likely that he will attain godhood, if not in name then in practicality. The same will apply to any others that survived from the last Age of Magic, they will be the new pantheon of Deities for the next millennia."

"That would explain why Anapa attempted to arise now," the mother says with a thoughtful frown.

"The Jackal, yes," Richard says, nodding at her. "And why the Vohls in my territory tried to bring Chenerbog to this world. Whomever gets here first will have more power than the others."

"Do you know of any others that have tried to rise?" the maiden asks, her tone and voice soothing, though he can sense the calculation in her gaze.

"I do not," he says honestly.

"Who would you side with, in such an effort?" the crone asks with a scowl at him.

"I am monotheistic," he answers simply. "I believe in one God, not too dissimilar from the Christians, but more spiritual in nature. I do not disbelieve in any one pantheon."

"Who would you side with?" the mother asks, her gaze intent on him.

He frowns at her, but answers, "I would side with any I deemed worthy compared to Roland and his type."

"Are the white Witches and Vohls worthy?" the maiden asks, her own dark eyebrow arched high on her perfectly beautiful face.

"In the large, yes, among many others," Richard answers with a tight smile. "You want a direct answer of support, but I will not give you one. It depends on the sect, the leaders, and the people involved. I don't know you. I know my area well enough, and the answers for them are my own, as they in my territory. Know that I will not reach beyond my grasp, and that I have an understanding with the Beast Lord of Atlanta. The shapeshifters stand united."

The crone continues to scowl at him, and the other two make bitter faces, though the mother replies with a nod, "It is as good as we can hope for, I suppose."

"What did you talk to them about?" Autumn asks for the tenth time on the ride back, stubborn as always.

"I said later," Richard says absently as they ride back to the Keep, Kate in front of them on the Dude.

"I want to know now," Autumn says with a frown. "They asked for both of us, then they cut me out. Why?"

"Because you are not _me_ ," he snaps at her. "And if we talk about it, it won't be in front of others. So we'll talk about it _later_."

Autumn fumes and glares at him, though he ignores her with a calm and placid expression, which just angers her more. Kate listens to the whole thing and has a stern expression on her own face, not liking Richard right now either. They ride the rest of the way to the Keep in silence, and Richard stops at the Viking camp before proceeding into the gates. He gestures to the tent flap and Autumn sets a ward with a scowl, then turns to him, but he snaps at her first.

"I know you think of me as your little brother, but you need to stop that _right now_ ," he says with a flash of orange in his eyes as he allows himself to show her his own threatening side.

She blinks and stumbles back, feeling like she's looking at a barely caged animal rather than her brother.

"I am the Khan of nearly a thousand people and have a shit load of responsibility and you are not part of all of that," he growls. "Not yet. And if I say later, then we will talk about it _later_ , not that moment. And not in front of people from other organizations who may or may _not_ be our allies in the future. We don't know how far we can trust them, yet."

Autumn blinks at the vehemence in his voice, having not seen him ever lose his apparent control like this. She realizes she's stumbled back into a low stool and is sitting, looking up at him. She shakes her head to clear her head, and is about to yell back when she pauses and narrows her eyes at him.

"May not be our allies in the future?" Autumn asks, her mind catching up.

"Yes, may or may not," he says with a frustrated growl as he turns away. "I can't promise that they will always be allies. I hope so, but Kate is a loose cannon and an unknown, a complete unknown. We don't know where she came from or why. And I think she has an association with the Iron Dogs, I just don't know how."

"Who are the Iron Dogs?" Autumn asks, blinking in her attempt to catch up.

Richard pauses with his back to her, taking deep breaths to calm himself as he places his palms together in front of him. After a few deep breaths and a count to ten he speaks in a calmer voice.

"There is a man who lived in the world when the last Magic Age was upon the world," he says in a forced calm of a voice. "He gathered power until he was nearly godlike in his abilities with magic. He created and toppled kingdoms for millennia before the tech returned to the world. He foresaw this and slept while the tech ruled the world. He awoke when the magic returned, and he seeks to rebuild his empire that has been lost, and he wishes to do so in North America."

"You're serious," Autumn says into the lengthening silence.

"Absolutely," Richard says with another, easier breath. "He was called many things in the old days, but he has taken to calling himself Roland in this new age. The People are his disciples, practicing necromancy and piloting vampires. Another arm of his organization is known as the Iron Dogs, and I have encountered them numerous times in the Army, and a few times since I have become a were-tiger."

"That's…" she trails off, trying to grasp everything he said. "That's really big."

"Understatement of the year," he says with a touch of anger. "And that is the tip of the iceberg. I could tell stories for hours about what I know for a fact he is responsible for, and at some point, I will. I just don't have the time now, I have too many responsibilities to spend time telling stories. So when I say later, you must trust me, and wait until later."

She can hear the frayed patience in his voice, and having been given a glimpse at what else he is juggling besides what she has witnessed becomes clearer. She tightens her mouth, but nods in acceptance.

"I am trusting you, Tony," she says in her own strained voice. "I don't like not knowing what is going on."

"In all my years since the day I killed our father with my own hands and watched him bleed out in a dark alley," he says, meeting her own eyes steadily, "have I ever let you or Chrissy down?"

Autumn takes a deep breath as she frowns at him, but answers truthfully, "No, you've never disappointed us or failed us."

"Keep that in mind, is all I ask," Richard says, then turns to the tent flap and leaves her frowning at his exit.

Richard warms up in the private gym of the Beast Lord, Mischa and Kate the only spectators as they stand across from each other in the open padded area for sparring.

"Three rounds, UFC rules," Richard repeats, smiling tightly at the Beast Lord. "Five minute rounds, the ladies break us up if we don't break apart on our own."

"I'll try not to kill you on accident," Curran growls with a smile as he bares his teeth.

"If I recall the last time, you had a hard time stopping on time," he replies with a dry tone, glancing at Kate. "Do I need to worry?"

"I get to stab him if he holds past time?" she asks sarcastically with a psychotic smile. "Oh, no worries about that, I love any excuse to cut him."

"Keep it in check, baby," Curran says to her with a smirk.

She gives him a sardonic frown and pulls her sabre without looking, "Don't tempt me, your furriness."

Richard chuckles at the byplay, "Thirty seconds between rounds. Ready?"

"C'mon," Curran says with a predatory smile, and advances on his smaller opponent.

"You're really not going to tell us who won?" Domasca asks as the procession from the Horde leaves the Pack's territory.

"We both swore we wouldn't tell anyone," Richard says with a shrug. "As did Kate and Mischa."

"A blood oath, or a normal oath?" Daniel asks from his other side, also eager to hear who won.

"A normal one, but it doesn't matter," Richard says with a laugh. "I won't tell. Just let it go."

"Arguably the two most powerful shapeshifters and only known Firsts on the Continent fight, and you won't tell us who won," Domasca says with a frown at Richard. "It is not fair, khan."

"Life is unfair, Thomas, you know this," Richard says with a smirk. "Let it go. We'll be home soon, and I don't want to talk about it."

They ride the rest of the day in moody silence, wishing they knew the outcome.

Two more weeks of travelling brings Richard and his wandering group back to Houston, and he is greeted at the northeastern edge of the city by members of Clan Cat.

"Khan, it is good to see you," the leader of the two were-jaguar pair says with an honest smile, his bow in hand as they came out of the brush at the side of the road. "There is news that could not be sent across the phone."

Richard furrows his brow in thought as he tries to decide what that could be, having talked with Tasha the night before and nothing having come up. He accepts the small scroll from the young man and opens it, reading the sealed document written in code he had designed. He balls it up in his hand and pulls his sword, igniting the blade then the message as he thinks.

"Mischa, with me," he says over his shoulder. "Ragnarsons, we're visiting your father, now."

The group splits, and his mind is racing through the possibilities as they trot easily down the road to the NeoViking settlement. _The Norse gods have come to Midgard_.

Richard has dismounted and walked from the edge of the Viking territory to the village, the security he had hired and Mischa doing likewise. It had confused the security when he gave the signal, but they obeyed, and now they are breathing heavy to keep up with him on foot. He enters the village, city really, as Ragnar has attracted many followers from other settlements to him in his willingness to adopt technology. Richard is striding down the main street in jeans, leather vest and red t-shirt and weapons on his person as he comes near the main hall, and Ragnar has exited it.

Ragnar is much as Richard has always seen him recently, jeans, his own tactical vest and weapons on him. Primary among them a longsword on his hip and giant red axe taken from a fire giant Richard had killed not long after he had moved in next door. Richard pauses a dozen paces away, sensing he has something to say, and Ragnar smirks across the distance at him.

"You came directly to me, khan, I am honored to have precedence over your wife," Ragnar says with a sly smile, stepping towards him slowly.

"You know why I am here, show me," Richard says with a flash of his eyes.

"Do not order me around, tiger-eyes," Ragnar says in a hard tone. "I am king here, not you."

"I can kill dozens before your warriors can even attack me in turn, and the toll to bring me down, even without a lioness at my side, would cripple your kingdom and invite the others to bring you down," Richard says without hesitation as he looks around at the gathered NeoVikings. "Don't play games with me. Show me."

Ragnar frowns at Richard hard, then tilts his head, and leads him and Mischa into the hall. The gloom enshrouds them compared to the outside, but Richard's keen eyesight is not fooled, and he immediately sees the two figures at the far end of the hall. He strides purposely towards them, recognizing one, and then the other as he approaches faster than Ragnar, overtaking and passing him with Mischa in tow.

"How?" Richard asks as he stops less than ten yards from the All-Father Odin, dressed in a green Charhart vest, black jeans and a leather patch over his gray haired head.

"We were brought here during the flare, when your attention was elsewhere," Odin says with a frown at Richard. "The tech that ruled after left us in human form and no magic, but we persisted as you mourned the loss of your unborn children. You have my sympathies, Tiger."

The last statement carries compassion in it, but Richard mentally shakes the feeling away, knowing he is speaking to a god and that mind games are not beyond him.

"Why him, and not Baldur?" Richard asks, gesturing to the golden haired and hammer wielding Odinson beside the All-Father.

"The death of Baldur heralds Ragnarok," Odin says after a pause, nodding at Richard in what appears to be approval. "Thor is destined to slay the Midgard Serpent, and prior to the Shift was viewed as a hero for all mankind in the comic books and movies that were so popular."

Richard glances at the square jawed man in blue and silver armor with a red flowing cape, a short handled and heavy headed hammer in hand on a thong. He looks back at Odin, his gaze still unrepentant and challenging.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, his eyes narrowed.

"I didn't trust you, as you don't trust me," Odin replies, then gestures at his ravens perched in the rafters of the hundred yard long great hall. "Just as I have watched that you don't trust anyone but your closest circle."

Richard maintains his hard look at Odin, and Thor interrupts with his deep bass voice.

"You should show respect, mortal, the All-Father sits before you," he says with a glower at Richard as he gestures to his father beside him.

Richard turns his eyes to the thunder god with a frown, "I am a First among shapeshifters."

"That means nothing to me," Thor sneers at him.

Odin raises his hand to signal Thor to silence but Richard takes a step to the taller man, his own frown deepening.

"The age of man's consciousness and reason had him worship gods he could not see, and his faith and belief was manifested into form through the magic, creating you and him," Richard says with a gesture at the taller and broader man and the seated Odin.

"But before there was reason and speech, man was here, and the first things he respected and prayed to were the animals," Richard says with a flash of orange in his eyes as his voice rumbles out and all the Vikings in the hall hear him clearly. "The magic heard man's cry for the strength of the Wolf, the power of the Lion and the courage of the Tiger. It answered man's prayers and gave the Firsts the strength and power of the animals. The First Shapeshifters came before the gods and before mythology. I am a First, a reincarnation of those same spirits that came millennia ago."

He now stands toe to toe with Thor, having closed the distance and stepped up onto the platform before the Thunderer. Thor is scowling down from his towering height of nearly six and half feet, his fist clenching on his hammer.

"Not here, Thor, not now," Odin says firmly, and Thor's jaw twitches in anger.

"You are fortunate my father respects your influence here in Midgard, else I would destroy you utterly," Thor says with a menacing growl of his own.

"Tonight, then," Richard says, turning away from Thor without a glance back. "In the place I challenged your rogue Einjenhar, I will meet you, Thor, and we will fight to submission or knock out. No weapons, no magic. Man on man."

Thor stiffens at the insult given him by the turned back, but he starts a snarl of a smile as he glances at Odin. Odin is leaning back deeply in his chair, the great spear of his leaning against the high back while he studies Richard as he partially turns back to the throne.

"Are you sure of this, Richard Michaels?" Odin asks gruffly.

Richard nods, "At nightfall, I'll have a ring prepared, bring your people, and we'll have a show of it."

"What is the wager, if you win?" Odin asks, tilting his head back.

"A masterwork weapon from the hands of Odin," Richard says with a gesture at him. "And if I lose, you can have the land and castle I took from Meiflheim," he says with a gesture at the wall where the Fire Giantess' castle is in the distance.

"Agreed," Odin says, and the hall erupts in cheers as Richard and Mischa proceed out of the great hall and back to the Bastion.

"You're going to have a fight with Thor, son of Odin?" Tasha asks him incredulously, her hands on her hips as she looks at him in their living room. "Are you out of your mind?"

"No weapons, hand-to-hand," Richard says with a shrug, lounging on the couch, closing his eyes. "Worst case scenario, I'm laid up for a day or two healing, and we lose the Castle, which I was never really crazy about owning in the first place."

He takes a deep breath, enjoying the scent of his home and his wife as she walks up to him and sits on his lap. He opens his eyes to see her scowling down at him, though with no real heat in it.

"Sorry I didn't come right home," he says as he leans up and kisses her jawline.

"I knew you wouldn't if I sent the note, and I knew you needed to know as soon as possible," she says with a sigh as she closes her eyes, Richard continuing to kiss her neck and collar.

"We have time," he mumbles into her neck, and she smiles.

"Yes, we do," she says, pushing him to the side and straddling him with a grin.

Richard is standing in the open gate of the Bastion, watching as torches gather near the longboat in the distance. The torches signal the gathering of the Vikings for the spectacle of his fight with their thunder god. On the walls of the Bastion his own people are standing, armed, ready and eager to watch the fight as well. Richard has spoken to Floki on the details, and the young man had run off a few minutes ago, and Richard now waits for the message to be sent. He is fully armed with jeans, shirt and vest, weapons belt, quiver, bow and spear, looking to be ready for a battle royale.

Lightning flashes from near the longboat, and Richard begins to walk in that direction alone. A circle of torches thirty yards across is planted on three foot high stakes in the middle between the boat and the gate, equidistant, a hundred yards from the gate. In the middle of the circle is an excavated ring in an oval shape, dipping like a shallow crater. Thor is at the Viking lines in full armor and drops his hammer on the ground as he walks. Richard plants his spear, then pulls his bow out and tosses it aside as he walks slowly to the ring.

Both combatants walk slowly to the ring they will fight in, both discarding their weapons and armor, until both stand on one side of the ring. Richard stands in jeans and bare feet, his naked chest marked with black lines from recent wounds. Thor stands across from him, in leather leggings and his own broad chest bare and glistening in the firelight of the torches. Thor pulls his shoulder length hair back and ties it with a leather thong, exposing his short beard on his face fully, but Richard's is cut short in a tapered military cut and his face clean shaven.

Both men step forward and into the pit together, and they begin to circle each other, both eyes intense on the other's movements. Both have experience in fighting unarmed opponents and gauge and measure each other as they circle, slowly closing on each other as they do. Thor is the first to move, as they are nearly ten yards apart, and rushes Richard, who doesn't dodge but squats low and meets the man's charge nearly head on. Richard has braced for the larger man and pivots as he grapples, hip tossing him over his leg and slamming the big Norseman hard on his back.

Thor is momentarily stunned, not used to that tactic as his usual foes meeting his strength with their own. Richard has taken advantage of the Thunderer's momentary distraction to slip on top of him, straddling his chest and beginning to pound his head. He lands two solid blows with his open palms on his face before Thor brings his arms up to block. Richard grabs one in his own hands as the Viking arcs his back violently off the ground. Richard pushes the arm to the side, causing Thor to twist beneath him, and he wraps his legs around the larger man's torso as he snakes his arms around his head and side.

Thor is defending against Richard's attempt to wrap his head in a choking lock from behind, pushing up with his legs and hips, placing his weight and strength on Richard's smaller frame. Richard grunts at the pressure, moving his hands and arms to try and get a solid grip to try and squeeze Thor's head, but the other warrior is good at wrestling. Richard continues to maintain a partial grip from behind and mixes in strikes with his fists on the other man's midsection and ribs, and Thor focuses on defense, though one in three get through, if not full forced. Richard has continued to work his legs, though, and he now has his right ankle hooked under his left knee, a body triangle lock from Jiu-Jitsu. Thor reaches down to push the tightening legs from his diaphragm and midsection, but when he does Richard punches his side mercilessly, and Thor is alternating between the two for a few moments.

Finally Thor twists to the side and bends his torso forward with all his strength, nearly flipping Richard's head into the ground. Richard reacts with his shapeshifter reflexes and has leaned back from the other man's back to avoid hitting the ground with his head, his legs remaining around the thunder god. Thor begins short jabs at Richard's knees, but Richard ignores the short stabs of pain as he reaches back then places a hard hammer punch in Thor's back on his kidney. Thor roars in response, arcing back and slamming Richard back into the ground on his back, Thor on top of him still with his back to him and wrapped in his legs. Richard takes the hit, and fights through the loss of breath to wrap his smaller but still muscular arms around Thor's neck and head.

Thor has tucked his chin down, but Richard now has a forearm and bicept around his jaw and his other gripping the top of his head. The rear naked choke hold is not complete, though, and Thor fights against it, pushing his legs and creating a furrow in the ground from Richard's back. Thor reaches down and punches Richard's shin, but as he does, Richard releases the hand on the head and palm strikes him in the nose. Thor reacts on instinct, his head jerking back, and Richard's arm sinks under the jaw along the jugular and heavy blood vessels of the neck. Richard feels the pounding of pain in his leg, possibly a broken shinbone from Thor's immense strength, but he refuses to let go now.

His head lock solid, he leans back and pulls Thor's head and neck back as he holds his legs in place through the pain. Thor has stopped hitting the legs and is scrabbling now at the iron hold on his neck, his attempts to dislodge him growing weaker until his hands fall limp to his side. Richard holds the choke for only three more seconds then releases the blood choke from the thunder god, thirty seconds of that hold deadly to a human, and the ten he held it for on Thor only causing unconsciousness.

Richard kicks the Norseman away with his left leg, the other one a bit swollen, he recognizes it as a chipped bone and torn muscle. He shifts his legs out from under and realigns the muscle of the leg then rises slowly to his feet, looking out at the Vikings, then turning to his own people. Everyone is silent and watching, and when he raises his hands to the sky they all roar in response, the Horde celebrating the victory of their Khan.

Epilogue….

Autumn sits on the roof of the barn alone as she watches the sunrise, her mind elsewhere. She is startled from her thoughts as footsteps sound on the platform, and she realizes that Mischa is now sitting next to her. She calms her racing heart and takes a deep breath, looking into the distance.

"You are up early," Mischa says with a curious tone.

"I never slept," Autumn corrects with a sigh. "It has been brought to my attention, numerous times since I came to Houston, that my brother is not the young man or youth I remember, but someone else entirely. And though I have heard the stories, and even saw his actions, it has been hard to process."

"Did last night help?" Mischa asks, her head tilted and looking at the older woman.

"Surprisingly, yes," Autumn says with raised eyebrows and a nod. "Watching hundreds of shapeshifters fight for a good vantage to watch him fight, to hear their roar to the heavens when he stood triumphant over a god…"

She trails off with the last, shaking her head before continuing, "I have never been so scared and so proud in my entire life. Scared to have so many dangerous, powerful people around me, and proud that my little brother has become the man he is."

"I don't think I can ever see him as someone's little brother," Mischa admits in the pause, her smile crooked. "I only know him as Richard Michaels, the Khan."

"I don't think I'll ever really be able to get over it," Autumn admits with a sigh. "But I can't deny what I see he has done, before my own eyes. And what he's willing to do for me and my sister, even though he has inarguably more important things to do."

"You're going to stay then, and run the shop?" Mischa asks, a small smile on her face at winning a bet with Nita.

"Yes," Autumn says with a resigned sigh. "I will likely headbutt him on a regular basis, but that's family. We deal with it."

"I'm glad you're staying," Mischa says with a smile. "He could use another shoulder to lean on."

"I've noticed he's leaned on yours, during the trip," Autumn says with a glance and raised eyebrow at the were-lion. "Have you accepted your feelings?"

"I have," Mischa says slowly with a nod of her head and a tight frown. "I still don't know what to do about it, but I have accepted them. The fact that Tasha and him are both understanding and accepting is helping, though weird as hell."

Autumn laughs lightly, " 'It's supposed to be awkward, and strange, and uncomfortable, because that is how real life is. We are not a poem or a story, we are real people who fumble about and make it work if we can. We remember it more because of the awkwardness of it all, and we cherish it more.' "

"That is obviously a quote," Mishca says with narrowed eyes of thought. "And I heard him say that, or something similar. Who said it?"

"Our mother, not long before she died," Autumn says with a sad smile, looking back at the sunrise, now nearly up and the multi-colors fading. "She knew it was not to be much longer, and she spoke to us kids, and Richard directly, to help us into adulthood. Those were the most significant words she said in that time."

Mischa only nods at the insight, and the two women watch the rest of the sunrise and the morning light spread in silence, relaxing in the dawn of a new day.

End…


End file.
